Accidents?
by Fleuramis
Summary: A series of potentially deadly accidents happening to Aramis cause worry for his brothers, as they attempt to figure out why they are happening.
1. Chapter 1

_New story. This first chapter is rather short, because of a very busy week. Subsequent chapters will be normal length. Please review and let me know what you think._

The Musketeers had just ridden in after a 2-week mission in Normandy for the King. They were all exhausted, but happy to be home again, and looking forward to sleeping in their own beds that night. All had gone well, for which they were thankful.

They took their horses into the stable, and turned them over to the young man who acted as stablehand in the evenings, then Athos went up to Treville' office to make their report to him. They knew, even though it was quite late, that the Captain would wait up to hear the details of their mission.

Aramis, as he always did, stayed behind in the stable to feed his horse, and give it some special attention. Fidget knew Aramis would have a carrot and an apple for him, and patiently waited for them while the stablehand rubbed him down after taking off the saddle that he had worn for so many days riding.

Aramis came back from the kitchen with the promised treats for Fidget with perfect timing. The stablehand, Bernard, had just finished up and was turning in for the night.

"Here you go, boy. You earned these," he said, patting the tired but content animal on his neck. He waited until Fidget had finished his carrot and apple before deciding he was exhausted enough to sleep now. He had trouble most nights falling asleep, but he didn't think that would happen tonight. He was just too tired. They all were.

He retrieved his doublet and hat from the slats on the stall where he had hung them, and headed for the stable door. The only warning he had of trouble was the ominous cracking sound coming from above him. As he looked up, the loft holding the hay opened, bales coming down much faster than he could move to get out of the way. He had turned back towards the door of the stable to get out when several bales in succession slammed into his back, driving him to the floor where others fell on top of him as he lay unmoving in the straw.

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When Athos emerged from Treville's office, he didn't see any of his brothers, which didn't surprise him. As tired as they all were, he would probably be the last one in bed for the night. Then, he saw Porthos heading his way.

"You seen Aramis?" he asked, concern coloring his words.

"No, I just finished with Treville," Athos replied.

"I knocked on his door,and got no reply, so I went in. He hasn't been there yet," replied Porthos.

"Maybe he decided he was hungry, and is scrounging in the kitchen," Athos said.

Porthos turned and headed for the kitchen, followed by Athos, curious now as to where their admittedly exhausted brother had gone. But the kitchen was dark. Serge and his helpers had obviously turned in some time ago. No smells of cooking permeated the air at all.

They stood there a moment, wondering where their missing brother was. Then, Athos looked at Porthos, who said, "You don't think..." looking over towards the stables. Without answering, Athos led the way towards the building, hoping nothing had happened.

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Pulling the heavy stable doors open, Athos and Porthos gasped as they beheld the sight before them. Bales of hay were everywhere. Their gazes looked upward, seeing broken and splintered wood instead of the normal wooden slats that held the hay.

Then, they heard a muffled groan. "Aramis!" came from Porthos. They both moved in the direction of the sound, coming somewhere in, or under, the bales on the floor.

They grabbed hold of and dragged several bales out of the way before they saw their brother, lying face down on the floor.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed, as they both dropped to their knees beside the fallen marksman.

Turning him over, they saw his eyes closed. Then, Athos spied something, indicating it to Porthos with a nod. The pitchfork for handling the hay was stuck into the wood next to Aramis.

Athos realized something, saying to Porthos, "Look where it landed."

The implement was next to Aramis' hand.

Athos said, "Another two inches or so to the right, and it would have impaled his hand or one of his fingers, realizing just how lucky they were that it had not happened as it might have.

"Aramis!" Athos said softly. Another groan came in reply.

Then, Aramis slowly opened his eyes, looking at them a moment before asking, "What happened?" with a confused expression on his face. He had moved his head a little as he awakened, and they could now see the bruise on his forehead near his hairline, probably from hitting the floor when he fell. It could account for the confusion Aramis felt as he woke up.

"We were hoping you could tell us, mon ami," Porthos responded, worry clouding his face. They knew the bales had fallen, but not how.

Aramis was silent for a moment, then as it came back to him, he said quietly, "The bales! I heard a cracking sound, but not soon enough to move away. They...they hit my back and head, and that's all I remember."

"Can you move, Aramis?" Athos asked, shifting to move a hand under his brother's shoulders to lift him. Aramis dutifully attempted to sit up, and managed it after several tries with Athos and Porthos' hands beneath him assisting him in his endeavor.

Once Aramis was sitting, he felt intensely dizzy, but insisted on standing anyway. Once he was upright, with Athos and Porthos on either side so he could stay standing, he swayed in their arms.

"Let us take it slowly,and see if we can get you to the infirmary," Athos said to Aramis.

It was a slow move, but eventually, they got him into a bed in the infirmary. Athos went outside and found a cadet to run and get Dr. Lemay, before going back to his brother's side. It didn't look like Aramis had any serious injuries, but they would feel easier if Lemay could confirm that for them.

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A pair of malevolent eyes watched with great interest the movements coming from the stable. "This is only the beginning," he whispered to himself. "Only the beginning."

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 _I did a bit of research into the weight of bales of hay, and it surprised me. They look so light when seen while driving by some of them (I live where there is a lot of hay grown, as well as tons of veggies. The small bales of hay are 30 pounds or more. The next size up are between 40-75 pounds. The large ones are 100-140 pounds._


	2. Chapter 2

_**First, an apology. I hadn't realized that bales of hay weren't invented until the 1930's! I was so busy checking to see if it would be accurate for bales to cause the accident in the way it did that I didn't think of that.**_

Dr. Lemay examined Aramis, and said he should be just fine. A couple of ribs were bruised, not broken, and he had a mild concussion from hitting his head on the floor. They all realized it could have been far worse, and were very thankful that it hadn't been. Of course, Dr. Lemay gave him a mild pain med for pain and told him to get plenty of rest, to which Aramis immediately protested. He wasn't the best of patients, never wanting to do what he told his own patients when they were sick or injured. But his brothers would keep an eye on him to see that he did exactly what Lemay told him to do. Aramis just let out a long, exaggerated sigh at his predicament, to which his brothers responded with grins.

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Three days later, he was, as he himself put it, 'finally' released from taking it easy, so he could join his brothers on palace duty. "Even if it is almost always very boring, at least I'm finally out of bed rest," Aramis quipped, as he strode towards the palace with his brothers with a smile on his face.

Louis was not to be seen all day, having contracted a small cold and confining himself to his rooms. They were just about to the end of their endlessly long day on duty, when they ran into Philippe de Dammartin, the spoiled and temperamental son of the Comte de Dammartin.

Philippe had decided he wanted to be a Musketeer, attracted probably by adventure, and thinking to cover himself with glory. He had not survived the first training sessions, and highly resented anyone in a Musketeer uniform, especially the ones he held responsible for his failure. They had heard of his disparaging remarks about the Musketeer regiment made in Court circles. He seemed to be trying to turn the focus onto the regiment itself to keep it from focusing on his failures.

Seeing the Musketeers heading his way, he stopped them with a haughtily held hand raised. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my nemeses in the flesh."

Looking them up and down in disdain, he turned to address Athos first, sneering, "Athos, who deemed me not good enough with a sword to be a Musketeer. I, who have been trained by the most renowned fencing master in France."

Athos quietly replied, "The lessons need to be learned properly in order to effectively be a Musketeer."

He was hoping to diffuse the young man's ire by speaking softly to him, but had a feeling nothing would work when the man wanted to vindicate himself so badly. This just made Philippe angrier.

Turning next to Aramis, he raised his voice, saying, "And you, Aramis, deemed me unfit to be a Musketeer because I didn't shoot well enough."

"Philippe, you never once hit the bull's-eye. A Musketeer needs to be able to shoot in case he has occasion to protect one of his fellow Musketeers, the royal family or a citizen ," he replied, striving for calmness in order to quiet the irate young man, but knowing in his heart it wouldn't work. It never had during his training, which was yet another reason he had been asked to leave. He didn't take instruction well at all.

"You Musketeers think you are better than everyone! You think you are on the same level as I! You have delusions that need to be broken!" he continued, fully aware that they were drawing a small crowd who were curious at the confrontation.

Grabbing hold of Aramis' doublet, he yanked at it, shouting, "You are nothing but..."

All three of Aramis' brothers moved a step towards the altercation then. they weren't about to let this rude young man take his tantrum out on him.

But just then, another voice spoke up. "Philippe, how dare you embarrass your family in this way! Take yourself and your childish antics to your rooms, and do not show your face again today," his father, the Comte de Dammartin said in a raised voice. "You dishonor the Dammartin name by behaving like a spoiled child, and I will treat you as one until you mend your ways."

Seeing that his son was not moving, he spoke once again. "If you dare to disobey me, you will be banished to our estates with no spending money until you mend your ways. Now, go!"

With a seething, vicious glance at the Musketeers, Philippe finally stomped off towards his rooms, slamming the doors he went through behind him.

The Comte turned to the Musketeers and said, "I am sorry for my son's behavior. It is time he learned to grow up and behave as a man. Thank you for your restraint in this matter," and turned to head the same way as his son.

Porthos, who had been very quiet through the whole affair, said quietly, "How can he have fathered such a spoiled brat? They're complete opposites." Laughing, the four finished their duties and returned to the garrison for dinner. His brothers teased Aramis about how "boring" palace duty had been that day.

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When they got back, Treville met them in the courtyard. "How was palace duty?" he asked.

Athos answered for all of them. "Other than one small incident, it was a very quiet day," he deadpanned.

Treville, knowing how his Musketeers played down "small" incidents, immediately asked what happened.

"Philippe de Dammartin accosted us, still very unhappy about not being made a Musketeer, suggesting it was our fault that he failed the training."

"He is the most spoiled, arrogant..."

Athos interrupted his captain, saying, "He didn't get much past grabbing Aramis' doublet before his father intervened and sent him to his rooms, telling him that as long as he behaved as a spoiled brat, he would treat him like one!"

That calmed Treville down. He did not like his Musketeers put down by anyone, including members of the aristocracy.

"Good! The Comte showed far more sense than some of our blue-blooded royal favorites!"

The Musketeers were going to proceed towards the dining area, when Treville continued speaking. "Bernard feels responsible for anything that happens in the stable are, and took it upon himself to investigate matters. He has spent the past few days examining the hayloft area and stable thoroughly, and found nothing fishy. Just some rotten wood that should have been replaced long ago by his predecessor. So no suspicious activity, thank goodness, just a very unlucky accident for Aramis, which pointed to the fact that we need to pay attention to the upkeep of our garrison a little better in future."

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Next day, Aramis volunteered to accompany d'Artagnan, who was headed for the market area to meet Constance. Aramis said he would walk with him as far as the apple vendor's.

D'Artagnan asked, "Do you think young Dammartin will continue to cause us trouble?"

"He risks his father's wrath if he does, d'Artagnan. For such a young man, to be without the resources his father threatens to take away from jim will probably outweigh his need to vindicate himself. Let us hope so anyway," throwing his arm around the newest Musketeer's shoulders.

D'Artagnan hadn't been a Musketeer all that long yet, so he wasn't as used to some of the aristocracy's needs to look good before others. But Aramis believed what he had told d'Artagnan. Especially for a young nobleman, to be without the use of his father's pocketbook when he was trying so hard to impress everyone with himself would be a severe blow. He wouldn't have the funds to dress himself in the latest fashions, flirt and give small gifts to some of the Court ladies, and enjoy nights filled with balls, parties and the pleasures of gambling with the other young men. Aramis knew the man would tread lightly if he valued the life he was living.

When d'Artagnan had split up from him, Aramis walked towards the apple cart, looking forward to a nice juicy selection from the cart to enjoy.

He was nearly there when he heard a scream coming from behind him. Thinking to help whoever was obviously distressed, he started to turn to look behind him.

He had virtually no time to react as a very large snarling dog, which had been coming towards him at a rapid pace, launched itself at him. Aramis instinctively lifted his arm to protect his head from the attack. The dog's teeth bit into his forearm, causing him to cry out at the pain it caused. Aramis barely had time to take a breath before the dog attacked again, this time catching his hand in its jaws. But Aramis had been able to grab his pistol in those few seconds, and even as the dog bit down on his flesh, twisted the pistol and fired. The dog dropped like a stone to the ground and lay unmoving, Aramis' deadly accuracy finally removing the threat. Dimly, he heard d'Artagnan and Constance's worried shouts, "Aramis!"

Aramis, now that the dog was dead, slowly sunk to his knees, his damaged arm clutched against his chest. Reaction was setting in, and he could feel the tremors in his body from what he had just been through. As he started to lose consciousness, he felt arms catch him.

D'Artagnan's voice, resonating with the shock of what he had just witnessed, gathered Aramis' upper body into his lap, trying to soothe his brother. "I've got you, Aramis," he heard, just before the blackness settled in.

D'Artagnan, cradling his brother close to his chest, asked Constance to go get Athos and Porthos. She turned to him, saying, "I need to wrap that arm up before he loses too much blood, d'Artagnan. Maybe the apple vendor could go for them?" hurrying off to her nearby house for the supplies she needed.

D'Artagnan caught the apple vendor's attention, and when he came over, asked him to go for his brothers.

Aramis was very pale, and so far, unresponsive. D'Artagnan couldn't believe the scenario he had just witnessed. What were the chances of that happening on a busy city street? But then, he heard a voice in the background saying, "It's Levesque's dog, the one he be tryin' so hard to tame. Wanted it for a guard dog fer 'is shop, he did. Thought it's meanness'd work jus' fine. Somebody must ha' let it out 'f it's pen!" D'Artagnan filed that fact away to investigate later.

He could feel Aramis stirring in his arms. But what he hadn't expected were the frenzied words that came from his half-conscious brother's mouth: No, n...not again! W...wolves!" D'Artagnan's heart plummeted at these words. The attack had brought back memories to Aramis of one of the worst moments of his life **, a memory he and his brothers had hoped Aramis would never relive again.

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 _** **see my ff, Concealed.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**I should have given the chapter of my fanfic, Concealed, that the wolf episode happened in for those who haven't read it. The wolf part begins in chapter 17.**_

D'Artagnan held Aramis tighter when he saw the anguish on his brother's face, whispering, "Aramis, it's d'Artagnan! You're in Paris, not in the woods. There are no wolves. You're safe. It's all right," stroking his head as he spoke.

Aramis didn't seem to hear him, though. He was lost in memories of being left bound in a remote wooded area, with three wolves surrounding him, one of which attacked him. D'Artagnan felt the terror in his brother as he held him, tremors running through his body. The Gascon kept up a steady stream of calm reassurances, though, until at last, Aramis calmed down and became still. A few more moments passed, and then his eyes began to flutter open.

At first, his gaze looked confused, as if he didn't recognize where he was. Then, seeing d'Artagnan, he relaxed more and gave him an exhausted hint of a smile.

D'Artagnan smiled in return, then said, "Constance should be back any time now. She went to get some supplies to help you. She will most likely fuss over you like a loving mother hen!"

"The dog?" he asked, obviously not remembering everything yet.

"It's dead, Aramis. Your shot was true. It won't harm anyone else. Now, you just relax, and let us take care of you like you always do for us," giving his brother's shoulder another gentle hug as he said this.

Constance came around the corner a few moments after he finished speaking, arms filled with strips of cloth for bandages and ointments to hopefully soothe the pain.

She had no sooner begun to clean the wounds, than Athos and Porthos arrived from the other direction. As soon as their eyes spied Aramis in d'Artagnan's arms they sped up the rest of the way, dropping to their knees at their brother's side. They could see the bites on his forearm and hand, the torn flesh and open wounds already swelling.

"How is he?" Athos asked d'Artagnan and Constance.

"He is just a little the worse for wear. I will be fine," came a weary voice, startling all of them.

Aramis gazed up at them with pain-glazed eyes.

Porthos, in a worried but fondly exasperated voice, said, "You are the only man I know who would be laying in the street with your arm chewed open, telling us that!"

Aramis closed his eyes again, saying, "Takes more than a dog to get rid of...," trailing off as he gave into darkness once more.

"Probably for the best," spoke Constance. When he's out, he doesn't feel the pain. It lets me take care of him without worrying if I'm hurting him, too," and spread out her supplies.

Constance carefully and gently cleaned the red angry-looking wounds, applied some of the ointment on them, and then wrapped them well with the clean white bandages. Through it all, Aramis never woke up, moved or made a sound, for which they were all very grateful.

Porthos then gathered his brother's limp body into his strong arms, and they returned slowly to the garrison, Constance alongside her patient like the proverbial mother hen that d'Artagnan had fondly labeled her earlier.

As they walked through the streets, d'Artagnan filled them in on what had happened, as the apple vendor had not given them much information, just urging them to go to their brother, of whom he was very fond.

"Where did this dog come from?" Athos asked.

"We don't know," responded d'Artagnan,"but I overheard a bystander saying something about it being Levesque's dog, one he had been trying to tame to make a guard dog for his shop out of it. He also said somebody must have unlocked the pen it was in and let it out."

Porthos, angry now, said, "Why would anyone do that? Let a wild dog out on a busy market morning?"

Athos replied, "We will find out, Porthos. It might have been a defective lock. If it wasn't, we will get to the bottom of this. But right now, we take care of Aramis."

But d'Artagnan wasn't finished with his tale. "He was unconscious for a while after he shot the dog, and he started dreaming." Looking from one to the other of his brother's eyes, he hesitated and then said, "He got very agitated, and it was a struggle to keep him still. He was saying, 'Not again. Wolves!' "

At that, Athos and Porthos looked at each other, worry filling their eyes. They had so hoped that traumatic time had finally been buried, and that Aramis would never be troubled by it again. But it wasn't to be. What were the chances of someone who had been savagely attacked by a wolf in a remote wooded area also being attacked by a raging dog in the heart of Paris? Their hearts became even more somber as they brought their beleagured brother back to the garrison.

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As they neared the garrison, Aramis became restless again. "Please, no!" he begged softly. He tried to twist free of Porthos' hold, probably thinking he was tied and helpless like before. He became more desperate in his attempt when he failed the first time. "Please!" he again begged, his voice filled with fear, and his whole body trembling.

His eyes were open now, wide open, and the desperation and panic filling them broke their brothers' hearts to see. They were remembering the time following the wolf attack months earlier. They felt as helpless now as they had been then.

"Aramis, it's Porthos! There are no wolves here, I promise, mon ami." Aramis didn't seem to hear him, though.

Constance had heard the account of what had happened, and there were tears in her eyes now as she witnessed first-hand the trauma it could still cause.

Porthos, with all of his strength, was still having difficulties trying to keep Aramis still in his arms. Athos and d'Artagnan were trying desperately to calm him down, stroking his hair, laying their hands gently on his shoulders, and against the side of his face.

"We drove them away. We will not let them come near again, Aramis," Athos finally tried saying, thinking if telling Aramis there weren't any wolves hadn't worked, maybe trying to tell him they had got rid of them would. It worked. Finally, his frantic movements and pleas gradually calmed down and then stopped.

He was exhausted, his face and hair soaked with sweat. His breathing took a few minutes to slow down closer to normal. Then, his half-open eyes very slowly closed, as he surrendered to sleep once more.

They looked at each other, pain in every one of their faces as they, too, quieted themselves down in the aftermath.

They hadn't even realized they were so close until they saw the garrison gates looming in front of them. Their whole focus had been, still was, on Aramis.

Treville met them inside the gates, having been told what had happened.

"How is he?" he asked, as soon as he saw them.

"Not good, I am afraid," Athos replied. "The attack has brought back the nightmares he had after what he went through from Jean's kidnapping." Treville's face registered shock and dismay when he heard that, as they had told him about that whole incident.

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Dr. Lemay came shortly afterwards, as Treville had sent a cadet to fetch him as soon as he had been told what had happened.

The good doctor was shocked to be called back to treat Aramis so soon again. "He has to be the unluckiest young man in the world right now," and the others nodded in complete agreement.

Lemay examined the bites, cleaned them again, and got to work stitching them closed. He told them Aramis did have some luck there, as the bite marks came together much more easily than was often the case. He didn't have a lot of difficulty suturing them. Then, he rubbed in some salve and bandaged them.

He told them there was no sign of rabies that he could detect, shocking Aramis' brothers. They had been so busy trying to work through Aramis' nightmares with him that the possibility of rabies just hadn't occurred to them. They all heaved more sighs of relief at this news. He bandaged the wounds, and then stood up.

Holding out a couple of bottles, he said, "He needs to take the one on the left whenever he eats. It is for pain. The other is for help sleeping, just if he needs them. Unfortunately, they will not prevent nightmares, just relax him to enable him to sleep. I do not see any sign of infection so far. I've revised my comments about luck further. He was one lucky young man in a couple of ways, as, although he will be in pain for a while, it could have been far worse, if either the wounds wouldn't close properly or rabies had been present. I will return tomorrow to check on him, unless anything else happens tonight, in which case, please send for me. Good night, gentlemen."

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Not long after Lemay left, Aramis began to awaken again. Porthos, who was sitting with him while Athos and d'Artagnan talked to Treville in his office, tensed, ready to restrain him again, if need be. But when Aramis' eyes opened, he saw his brother next to him and gave him a sleepy smile.

"You all right then?" Porthos asked.

Just the tone in which he said it caused a furrow to Aramis' brows, as knowing his brother as well as he did, it told him all wasn't well with Porthos.

"What's wrong, Porthos?" he asked.

Porthos, not wanting to bring the nightmares up, said, "Nothing," but from the look in Aramis' eyes as he searched his brother's face, knew he was going to ask again.

Sighing, he responded, "Your were having nightmares," hoping against hope that his brother would accept his answer and let it be.

"They were that bad?" came another question.

"You're all right now, though," he said.

Aramis knew an evasion when he heard one, and he also knew Porthos.

"Was I talking in the nightmares?" he persisted.

Porthos knew he was going to end up having to tell him, so he quietly said, "The wolves were back in your head, mon ami."

Shocked, Aramis said, "But I haven't even had a thought about that for months!"

"But you hadn't just had anything that would remind you of it,either."

His eyes widening now, Aramis said, "The dog attack," to which Porthos just responded with a sad nod of his head.

"You were trying so hard to get away, I had a hard time holding on to you."

"I'm so sorry, Porthos."

"It's not your fault, Aramis. Jean caused the nightmares, not you or the dog attack."

"I assume Lemay has been here?"

Porthos was asking him something a little different for his sake, so he went along with it. "Lemay said the bites weren't as hard to sew as some bites are, and no sign of rabies or infection. Said you were lucky," his tone clearly telling Aramis that the dog attack itself was anything but lucky.

"God was watching over me," Aramis said softly, sending up a silent little prayer of thanks.

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Standing outside the gates of the garrison, a figure with the hood of his cloak pulled tight over his face, said to himself, "That's twice. It's almost too easy."


	4. Chapter 4

Aramis slept almost the whole day, then the night also, until the wee hours of the morning, when he became restless again. He had already kicked off his blankets before Porthos and Athos could get enough of a hold on him to pin him to the bed. They didn't want to restrain him at all, because they knew from past experience that it just brought horrid memories to him of his helplessness during the wolf attack. But they also knew that if they didn't, he could tear open all the work Lemay had done on the wounds and risk infection, so they had no choice.

D'Artagnan, having risen much earlier than the others, came through the door then, and seeing what was happening, rushed across the room to assist his brothers.

Aramis cried out as he fought against the hands holding him still, tearing at their hearts. "Why? Jean, why?" struggling weakly against what he thought were the ropes keeping him immobile against the threat before him. "No-o-o!" and he kicked out once again, both feet together against an invisible foe. "Please!" he whispered, pleading, but they didn't know to who he was speaking.

Finally, Athos reached his arms around Aramis and pulled his still struggling brother into his arms, holding him firmly against his chest, and whispering, "Aramis. Aramis!" he called a little louder. "It is the love of your brothers holding you. You are safe. "As he was speaking, one of his hands was rubbing gentle circles on Aramis' back to soothe him.

The others, seeing what Athos was doing and saying, laid their hands on him, too, trying to convey their love to him by squeezing his shoulder and ruffling his disordered curls.

At first, their words and actions didn't seem to be communicating themselves to him, but after several minutes, his struggles gradually began to ease off, until he finally lay spent against Athos' shoulder. His breathing was still ragged, as his body tried to calm itself down. He hiccouphed a few times, then drew in a long, shuddering breath and became quite still.

"Aramis, are you with us now?" Athos asked him, never interrupting the motions on his back. He waited for a reply, sensing that his brother was emotionally spent.

Finally, "Safe," a barely audible Aramis replied, followed by another deep breath.

"Yes, you are, brother. We killed the wolves, Aramis. We will always protect you, as you protect us."

"You did have us a little worried, Aramis," Porthos said, still afraid for his best friend's condition.

"S...sorry," Aramis mumbled, to which Porthos replied, "Don't you apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. The fault is...," stopping when he felt a hand on his arm. Looking up, he saw Athos' silent expression warning him against mentioning any more of the cause of the nightmares right now.

They were quiet for a while, glad that Aramis was over his nightmare. Then, they all seemed to realize that the way to counter his nightmares was to hold him close, evoking a sense of security in him. Such a simple thing, but if it could take away his anguish, one they were all more than willing to do for him. They were so relieved to have anything that seemed to actually work.

Since Aramis seemed to be awake enough and even relaxed at the moment, Porthos asked him if he would like to try eating, and surprised when he received a 'yes', hurried off to find Serge and get something.

Athos decided to take advantage of Aramis being awake, too, and began to check the bites and change the bandages. Aramis lay quietly while he worked, but when he finally finished, spoke.

"Athos?"

When he had his brother's attention,Aramis said, "I think I'm having a run of bad luck, a very bad run."

"Everyone has times of good and times of bad, Aramis. It's just a fluke that they came to closely together this time. Do not dwell on it, mon ami."

"I've spent too much time in this bed the past two weeks. Could I..."

Athos, knowing his brother, stopped him before he could go any further. "No, Aramis," in that no-nonsense tone that only the former Comte de la Fere would use. "You are not well enough to get up yet."

"But..."

"It is not open for discussion, Aramis. You are not well enough yet. You are very lucky that you were not even more severely injured by that dog, so give thanks for it."

But Aramis looked so down that he relented just a bit.

"How about we prop you up with some pillows so that you are not flat on your back for a while?"

Aramis' whole face it up at Athos' words, as he nodded in agreement.

When Porthos returned with a plate full of Serge's beef stew, he found a smiling Aramis waiting for him.

Aramis finished the whole plate, and soon was fast asleep again, this time not troubled by nightmares.

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Philippe was not a happy young man. His father, as well as his father's servants, were keeping a close eye on him. He found that there was nowhere he could go that he wasn't being observed, and it made him furious.

The Comte de Dammartin had told his son in no uncertain terms that he would not stand idly by and watch the ancient and honored Dammartin family name to be dragged through the mud. The Comte had said, "You may not realize what your words and actions can do, but I do. If you cause trouble again, you will find yourself banished to our estates, and remain there as long as I yet live-which could be for many years to come. You know me, and you know I am a man of my word. You will do exactly as I have said."

Philippe had no choice but to obey, but inside he was seething. He walked through the halls of the palace, smiling on the outside, but beyond angry and frustrated in mind.

As he passed two courtiers talking near the courtyard entrance, he heard what was to him a very interesting conversation.

"Seems His Majesty is not happy that one of his Musketeers has had two very close calls, and nearly lost his life."

The two courtiers did have an accurate sense of why the King was upset, though. Everything to do with Louis related to his own person. When Louis heard about anything happening to his own guards, the men who were handpicked to have charge of his protection, it left himself feeling more vulnerable, with less men to guard him from any dangers. And if highly skilled soldiers could have near-fatal accidents, it scared him into thinking he could, too.

Philippe, after hearing about what had happened to Aramis, selfishly rejoiced inside that one of the men he was so angry at, and who he wasn't allowed to take his frustrations out on, had nearly been killed twice. He decided fate must be on his side, not theirs.

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Meanwhile, in another part of Paris, a poor and run-down area, a disheveled man sat in a tavern, running ideas through his head for his next 'accident'. He knew he needed to be very careful, as two times could remain looking like an accident, but three might start looking somewhat suspicious. So far, no one seemed to have any clue that the Musketeer was being targetted. They thought he was just having a very unlucky couple of weeks.

A nasty grin appeared as he thought of just the right situation to create next.

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Aramis had slept for several house twice now in two days, and no nightmares had troubled him at all. His brothers couldn't be happier. The bites were healing nicely, with no signs of infection and no rabies had appeared. He ate everything they brought him, took his meds, and he had a smile for everyone.

He did keep pushing to do more, wanting to get up and go outside way too soon, and being Aramis, he could become very adamant when he wanted to do something. But they stayed firm, and even though he showed his displeasure at their decisions, he still abided by them.

They, unbeknownst to each other, were each thinking the same thing. Maybe now, things would finally be back truly to normal again.

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Of course, they should have known that Aramis being Aramis, he would try toD test himself out. So, early the next morning Porthos, who had taken his turn at his brother's bedside the night before, awoke to find his brother's bed empty and the door ajar. Waking the others, they flew the doorway. Fearing the worse, their eyes anxiously swept the garrison, lit by the first rays of dawn, then froze seeing him slumped over their table motionless.

D'Artagnan reached him first, gently nudging him on the shoulder. They all quieted down when they saw him slowly lift his head and look up at them with sleepy eyes. Then, their worry turned to exasperation.

"You know you scared us half to death, don't you?" Porthos said.

"I was tired of being cooped up," Aramis explained, with a huge yawn.

"Aramis, you do know we have only been keeping you in your bed until the stitches have a chance to knit, do you not?" Athos said next, trying to keep the grin hidden that threatened to break out. "What do you always tell us and any of your patients when they are recovering from a wound? Stay put, and give nature a chance to heal things naturally."

"What part of that doesn't apply to you, Aramis?" Porthos demanded, his very gruffness an attempt to hide his worry.

Aramis was by now hanging his head, knowing full well as he heard his medic advice given back to him, that they were right. Wearily, He rose to his feet.

Instantly, Porthos had an arm around his shoulder to assist him. The others just smiled. Yes, Aramis was being Aramis, and they wouldn't have him any other way.

Athos' mind was busy on the way back to Aramis' room, though. He was wondering why only Aramis was having 'accidents', a gnawing gut feeling telling him something just didn't seem right about them.


	5. Chapter 5

Aramis had finally healed well enough that Treville put him back on half-duty, working in the weapons building. He was so happy to be back again, he just smiled at everyone.

The first evening back on duty, his brothers took him out to their favorite tavern to eat and relax together. They took turns trying to out-do each other with tall tales for several hours, before Porthos indicated to Athos with a sideways look that Aramis was half-asleep and trying to hide it. Athos called it a night over Aramis' half-hearted protests, and they all filed out the door.

As they were walking back to the garrison, Aramis seemed to get a new burst of energy, and began telling his tall tales again, having his brothers in stitches.

It was just as they were passing an old run-down tavern that d'Artagnan noticed movement above their heads. Glancing upwards, he sprang into action, grabbing Aramis, who had been in front, and pulling him sideways to the ground. Athos and Porthos were about to question their newest brother about what he had just done when loose tiles began raining down to the ground from the tavern's roof, clattering as they hit the ground, one after another.

They all just stared at the potential disaster they had avoided. Then, Athos noticed that d'Artagnan's forehead was bloody.

"Are you all right?" he asked the young Gascon.

D'Artagnan, in the heat of the moment, hadn't noticed he was bleeding, or felt any pain. Now that he was still, he could feel pain across his forehead. Lifting a hand, he wiped away the blood that was dribbling down the side of his face, looked over at the pile of tiles on the road, and then looked at Aramis.

They realized another potential 'accident' had just been narrowly avoided to Aramis, who had been in front and would have been hit first by the falling tiles.

Athos pulled out a handkerchief and began dabbing at the blood still trickling down d'Artagnan's face.

"That was a very close call," he said, as he examined the cuts on d'Artagnan's forehead more closely.

"It sure was," came Aramis' voice, as he joined them. "Let me see your forehead, d'Artagnan." He gently examined the area, and told them, "He was lucky. It just cut the skin slightly. It should heal nicely, and no stitches," as he took the handkerchief from Athos and cleaned the area around the cuts himself.

D'Artagnan took Athos aside afterwards, and said in a soft voice, "Athos, that was no accident. I saw someone on the roof a split second before the tiles started to fall. I think...I think someone has been causing these accidents that have befallen Aramis deliberately," looking at Aramis as he spoke.

"I had already been wondering the same thing myself," Athos said, "and this incident reinforces the idea that someone has been trying to kill our brother."

They had thought they had spoken softly enough that their brother wouldn't hear them, but as Athos finished speaking, Aramis spoke.

"I am so sorry, d'Artagnan, that you were injured by whoever has been after ..."

They didn't let him finish, Athos speaking for both of them. "Aramis, in what way could this possibly have been your fault? Whoever this is has something wrong with his mind. We will find him, and bring him to justice."

Then, stopping, he looked more closely at Aramis as he said, "Have you been thinking they were not accidents? Why did you not tell us?"

Aramis just shrugged his shoulders, as he said, "There has been no evidence of foul play. It has just been a gut feeling since the dog attacked. But since we had nothing to go on, I kept silent for the time being."

"Next time, please be more forthcoming with us?" Athos said sternly. "We all know how you sometimes can sense danger, and you have saved us a number of times because of it. We all need to know when one of us is in potential jeopardy, Aramis," ruffling his brother's curls in a gesture that belied the sternness of his words, and indicated the love he had for Aramis, for all his brothers.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan spoke up, "I saw movement from the top of the roof just before I grabbed you. There was definitely foul play involved. No one would be up there late at night like that unless they were up to no good."

Athos said, "I have been pondering for a few days now whether these incidents were really accidents, especially when one of our men reported that the dog's pen is always kept locked, yet happened to be open to permit that animal to attack you? We need to keep a closer eye out from now on. Whoever this is has even been able to trespass on garrison grounds to create his mayhem, so we take extra care in our movements until he is caught."

Porthos joined them a few moments later. He had gone up on the roof to get a look at the area the tiles had come from.

"It's so dirty up there, I could see footprints pretty clearly in the dust and dirt, especially near the remaining stacks of tiles. Someone was definitely up to no good," he growled. Then, he noticed his brothers' faces, and said, "What?"

They filled him in on what they had been talking about, and he looked over at Aramis as he said, "You're gonna have a constant shadow from now on, mon ami. Anyone comes after you will have to deal with me first, all right?"

D'Artagnan said, "And us, as well. Whoever he is, he will be very sorry he tangled with us," throwing an arm around Aramis' shoulder as he spoke.

Aramis just looked at each of his brothers before saying,"Let's go home." As they walked away from the scene, he couldn't help looking back and up, though, thinking how close disaster had come once again. This time it nearly caused one of his brothers to be seriously injured, sending up a prayer of thanksgiving that d'Artagnan was going to be all right, and another one for his brothers' protection.

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When they got back to the garrison, Aramis said that he was very tired, and retired to his room. The others looked at each other, worry evident in their eyes.

D'Artagnan said, "Is he all right? He never admits he's tired, or injured or sick."

"He's worried about us now," Porthos told him. If I know Aramis, he thinks he caused your injury, and thinks we all will be in danger because of him. He is going to worry himself sick about us now. We need to sit him down and talk to him in the morning."

Athos agreed, saying, "Our Aramis is the one who needs to be careful, but we know Aramis. He is not going to take weel having to lay low for any length of time. We will straighten out his misconceptions after muster in the morning. Good night, gentlemen."

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Aramis closed the door quietly behind him, sick at heart. Some crazed person with a vendetta against him had now injured one of his beloved brothers. It was only by the grace of God that one of those falling tiles hadn't taken out d'Artagnan's than that, if the timing of the tiles falling had been slightly different, it could have been d'Artagnan who had been killed by this unknown man's deed.

I can't risk my brothers' lives, thought Aramis. I won't be the cause of any of their deaths. Sadness at what he knew he had to do filled his heart.

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The next morning, Philippe was up early. This was a rarity, not only for him but for most of the aristocracy, who attended balls and parties til the wee hours of the morning, and then slepts until noon. But Philippe needed to think, so he decided to take a walk around the palace grounds while no one was about. His idea of no one, naturally, didn't include servants and groundskeepers, all of whom were beneath his notice.

He was still highly upset by his present circumstances. He had been brought up, to a large extent by his mother,who had indulged his every whim and fancy. So now, he was chaffing at his father's actions in putting a halt to his wish to have revenge.

There had to be a way around his father's orders, Philippe thought. I just need to find it. So preoccupied was he with his thoughts that he nearly didn't notice a young man's odd behavior off to the right, right inside the treeline.

The man was bent over nearly down to the ground, his focus riveted on what he was doing.

Curious, Philippe quietly moved closer. What he saw got his complete attention.

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?" he asked, startling the rapt young m an, who jumped to his feet.

"I'm not doing anything!" he asserted, clearly very nervous to be questioned by this young dandy in front of him.

Philippe already had an idea of what the man was doing. But he leaned down to make sure.

Smiling, he straightened and said, "You and I are going to have a very satisfying partnership," he told the now somewhat confused young man, who didn't yet realize how quickly the nobleman before him had put two and two together: the secluded location out of direct eyesight of the palace windows, and the very thin rope tied almost at ground level in high grass between two trees.

Philippe now knew exactly who this young man was, because he himself had watched the Musketeer Aramis patrol right inside this same stretch of trees at the edge of the palace grounds each time he had been scheduled for palace duty recently. This young man was the one who had been causing the 'accidents' that Aramis had suffered through, and he had just witnessed the set-up of his next one.

"We will both get what we want in this profitable relationship, and no one will be any the wiser."

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Next morning Aramis was absent from muster, unheard of when he was on active duty. Treville looked at Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan pointedly, as if they might know where his missing marksman was. Athos gave a barely perceptable shake of his head, not wanting to give rise to questions among the rest of the regiment.

As soon as Treville had given out assignments and dismissed his men, he flagged down his rapidly retreating Inseparables.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Athos responded, "To be honest, Captain, we do not know. We were going to speak with Aramis about something after muster, but are as surprised as yourself to find him absent this morning."

Treville told him, "I expect to see him...and the three of you as soon as you do find him." Then, turning sharply on his heel, he ascended the steps to his office, slamming the door behind him.

Looking at each other, then over at Aramis' room, they quickly crossed the courtyard and Porthos knocked.

No answer.

Again, Porthos knocked-louder.

Nothing.

Trying the door, Porthos found it unlocked and pushed open the door.

Aramis' room was empty. His bed had not been slept in.

He was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan just stood there for a moment in the center of Aramis' room. They couldn't believe he had actually taken off. Looking silently at each other, the worry in their faces was identical. He couldn't be out somewhere with no protection with someone apparently causing accidents that could have been fatal more than once now.

Looking around, Athos spotted a note sitting on Aramis' table. Picking it up, he read aloud: D'Artagnan, I am so sorry you were injured. That should not have happened. I have gone away to prevent any of you (yes, I know you are all reading this now) from being further injured or killed because of me. Do not look for me, or worry about me. I will be fine. One for all. Aramis.

Porthos slammed his hand against the wall, anger and frustration marking his face. "The idiot!" he exclaimed. "Fine! He doesn't know the meaning of the word!"

"His heart is ruling his head in this one," Athos said. "We need to find him quickly. He does not know who this person is, and neither do we. The man could have followed him wherever he has gone, and Aramis would not know it, and which could make him more vulnerable because of it."

D'Artagnan spoke up, his voice barely audible. "He does know I don't blame him for the accident, doesn't he?", upset that he was the reason Aramis felt he had to leave.

"This is not your fault, d'Artagnan," Athos replied. "Aramis is dealing with someone who appears to be slightly unhinged. Aramis feels things deeply, and right now, is hurting that what had been intended for him instead hurt you. He feels it should have been him. We will find him and bring him back, and bring his tormentor to justice. Let us just hope this unknown man did not see and follow Aramis to wherever he has gone.

D'Artagnan spoke up, "Where do we begin looking? Paris is a very large city, and he is familiar with a great deal of it. We all are."

"He needs a safe place to sleep at night," Athos said. "But he will not go anywhere we have been to regularly. No room above any of the taverns we frequent. None of the ladies he has been with in the past (he knew that since the night at the convent, Aramis had been very quiet in the evening, not going to his former female companions).

Athos spoke again, saying, "We need to obtain Treville's permission to start searching. With any luck, we could have Aramis back with us before nightfall," heading towards the door.

Porthos had been silent while Athos was speaking. He had a bad feeling, and kept it to himself. Aramis, he thought, how can we have each others' backs if we don't know where you are, mon ami. He wished he had a little of the deep faith Aramis had. He could use it right about now, as he followed his brothers out the door to Treville's office.

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Two days later.

Aramis felt trapped. He looked around the dingy room he had taken with distaste: the table he sat at, chipped and stained; the bare floor, scarred and made with uneven wooden planks that caused him to tread carefully walking across at night; the bed that creaked with every movement, and a lumpy mattress and musty smelling bedding; the bare, unpainted walls with not even a picture hung to relieve the plainness. The chair he was seated upon wobbled on uneven legs, and he had already dug one splinter out of a tender area.

Not for the first time, he wished the room at least had a small fireplace, as the day was quite chilly. But, he thought, you get what you pay for.

He sighed, wishing he didn't need to be there, but still feeling that his actions had been needed.

He had stayed away from the solitary window, grimy and cracked, not wishing to give his unknown nemesis a possible target. He had no way of knowing who the man was, or what he might look like.

He had stayed clear of anywhere familiar to his brothers or Treville: taverns they frequented, areas they patrolled fairly often. He knew his brothers would move heaven and earth to find him, which was exactly what he needed to prevent.

He sighed again, wishing there was something he could do. Boredom was something he had always found difficult to contend with. He almost wished-almost-that the assailant would try something, so that things might come to a head.

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Leaning against the wall of the dingy tavern where Aramis had rented an upstairs room, the young man drew the hood of his cloak tighter around his face against the cold, looking upwards with a small smile. His target had no idea that his unknown enemy was right beneath his window. He could wait, let the Musketeer relax where he thought he was hidden from all who knew him. He was in no hurry. Sooner or later, the Musketeer would emerge.

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His brothers were at their wit's ends. They had searched for two days, and not come close to finding their brother.

They did give thanks that they had heard of no incidents involving a Musketeer. Of course, if Aramis had removed his pauldron to become incognito, they wouldn't hear anything at all.

It was very frustrating. The longer the time he was gone, the more likely something could happen, given the short time periods in-between the 'accidents' that had happened already. They could only hope Aramis was being very cautious, but they knew Aramis. He grew increasingly restless the longer he was forced to be inactive.

He had obviously found a room somewhere, but where? Hopefully, he would stay put and not go out, where he could once again become a target.

A target of whom? If only they could solve the mystery. And if only they could find their missing brother unharmed and safe.

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The nightmares had come to him just before dawn again. He had awakened shaking and drenched,at first not remembering them. Sitting up in bed with his head in his hands, after a moment, he rubbed his hand down his face to calm down. It came back to him, the growling, the feeling of utter helplessness, the wolf landing on his legs snarling with his fangs exposed.

He took a few deep breaths, then sat silently thinking. I've got to get out of this room. It was bad enough before the nightmares started, but now...

Where could he go, though. He quieted himself some more, then prayed. 'Dear God, there has to be somewhere safe that I can go. Somewhere maybe that is quiet, out-of-the-way'...looking around with a shudder, he added 'clean'.

For a brief while, nothing came to , his face cleared, and became peaceful as it came to him: Father Luc Longueau! When he had first come to Paris years ago, he had visited the little chapel near the southern edge of Paris, a place full of light and peace. He had met Father Luc, and went back often over the years to visit with him, and to pray. The little chapel, gleaming white walls, tenderly and meticulously cared for by the now-aging priest, had been a refuge of peace and prayer whenever he had been there, and he was always welcomed so warmly by Father Luc. The added plus was that, for some reason, he had not brought up the chapel around his brothers for quite some time now. He didn't know why, but it was turning out to be a handy bit of help right now.

Getting to his feet, he stuffed the few things he had brought with him in a small bag, looked around once, then left the room.

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As he emerged from the front door of the tavern, the shadow detached itself from the wall and followed him. He waited for Aramis to walk a few paces down the street first, not wanting to be seen.

It was once again a busy market day, carts and vendors lining the street, even in this poor, run-down part of Paris. He didn't dare try anything this morning. But he would keep track of where his quarry went. The Musketeer having no trouble on his walk, with any luck at all, would cause him to relax, thinking he was now free of whoever had been causinghis troubles.

He had overheard the Musketeers talking about the 'accidents' possibly not being 'accidents'. This suited him just fine. After discussing matters with the arrogant young nobleman recently, he would just do what he had to do without fine-tuning things so much. No one knew who was behind it anyway. He was free and clear.

It was quite a walk that the Musketeer led him on that morning. He wondered where in the world he was going. They were almost at the edge of the city. What could be here that would draw him and make him think he would be safe?

Finally, Aramis turned in...at a chapel? What was the man doing?

The young, hooded man scratched his head. He couldn't figure out why anyone would want to visit a chapel. He hadn't been in one since he had been quite young, and even then, he couldn't wait to leave so he could play in the street. This Musketeer actually wanted to come here? Why?

Aramis knocked on the door of the small building attached to the chapel. The door opened, and a black-robed middle-aged priest came out smiling embracing. He and the Musketeer embraced like old friends, then Aramis went inside with him, the priest's arm affectionately thrown around his shoulders.

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The watcher in the shadows thought to himself, what an unexpected place for him to have gone.

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Aramis and Fr. Luc sat down in the small kitchen, and the priest busied himself preparing some coffee for the both of them as they talked. Despite the difference in their ages, they had always been very comfortable in each other's company, and found that they still were as they talked. Fr. Luc was a good listener, his warm brown eyes paying complete attention to everything Aramis said.

Aramis wanted to make sure that he fully described the situation to Fr. Luc before settling in. Fr. Luc, knowing how dangerous Aramis' job could sometimes be, had told him more than once to come to him if he needed anything, which was the only reason he had felt all right with doing so now. But he had a right to know exactly what could happen if his suspected attacker found out where he was staying. He knew it wouldn't deter his friend, but he wanted to be honest with him, as he always had been.

Fr. Luc, knowing Aramis, also knew exactly why he was being told, and said, "Aramis, you are welcome here for as long as you want or need to say." Seeing the hesitancy still in Aramis' eyes, he continued, "You know I was a soldier before giving my life to God. I am not afraid of anything that might possibly happen for that reason, but ultimately because I trust in our God that you should be here, not because I know nothing will happen, but in case it does. You do know I would willingly give my life to protect yours, do you not? As I know you would do for me, as well. I would have been very disappointed if you had stayed away. Now, let us go talk to Him, shall we?"

Aramis' eyes were a little moist as he followed his friend down the narrow hallway that connected the little house to the chapel.

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A couple of hours later, Aramis smiled to himself, his first smile in days. Sitting in the tiny chapel, surrounded by pristine white walls with *Stations of the Cross every few feet around them to meditate upon, and the altar and beautiful Crucifix in front of him, he was more relaxed than he had been since this whole stretch of 'accidents' had begun.

He had gained an understanding through praying that, yes, this assailant might possibly find him here, but he no longer felt the guilt at being here after Fr. Luc's words earlier. He had needed to come to terms with the fact that if anything did happen to himself, he had at least been able to be at peace before God.

In all the many phases of his life, battles, loves and losses, happiness and tragedy, he had always shared them with his God, but so far hadn't this time. It had contributed to his restlessness the past few days, but here in this out-of-the-way chapel, he felt somehow right again. It felt good. He still thought he was probably in danger, but he had been many times over the years, and had always come through all right.

He felt so blessed to have such special friends in his life, especially the ones he was currently separated from,and included them in his prayers. He didn't know what he had ever done to deserve all them, but was so grateful for them all.

As he rose and went back to Fr. Luc's home, he smiled once again, looking forward to a relaxing evening and conversation with his friend.

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The man smirked as he kept an eye on the house Aramis had entered. Seriously, did the Musketeer really think a priest could save him? He would find out he was deluded, if he did. He decided he would wait a couple of days, to create a sense of safety in the Musketeer before striking. He still wasn't sure what method he would use here yet. It wouldn't be hard to get in, or even if he needed to. Once he struck, it would be all over for the Musketeer. He smiled, already sure in his arrogance that he would succeed and finish things.

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Aramis and Fr. Luc enjoyed their time together. Aramis helped his friend out around his home and assisted him in taking care of the chapel. It was a labor of love to be able to help, and was so peaceful polishing the wood of the pews until it shone in the sunlight coming in through the stained-glass windows, dappling the wood in blues, reds, greens and yellows. Fr. Luc was a good cook, and enjoyed making their meals. Aramis insisted on cleaning up afterwards. They had some long, wide-ranging conversations in the evenings before the fireplace with a glass of wine.

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Next morning, Fr. Luke grabbed a basket and took off the to purchase some food supplies from the vendors' carts that had already started lining the edges of the streets even this early in the morning. Aramis, still half-asleep, was taking care of the dishes left over from the night before when they had talked til the wee hours of the morning.

He had almost finished, when he heard a scraping sound-an instant before a loud explosion threw him clear across the room, hitting the opposite wall and dropping to the ground.

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*The Stations of the Cross are a 14-step Catholic devotion that commemorates Jesus Christ's last day on Earth as a Stations may be of stone, wood, or metal, sculptured or carved, or they may be merely paintings or engravings. Some Stations are valuable works of art, as those, for instance, in Antwerp cathedral, which have been much copied elsewhere. They are usually ranged at intervals around the walls of a church, though sometimes they are to be found in the open air, especially on roads leading to a church or shrine.

Stations of the Cross are found in almost every Catholic church, and sometimes outside, like the large ones at the retreat house I used to go to up against the foothills of the San Gabriel mountains, not far from Pasadena (also where we encountered the wolf I shared about in a comment about my ff story, Concealed).There are 14 of them, and can be made of of stone, wood, or metal, sculptured or carved, or they may be merely paintings or are used with meditations on Jesus' passion and death.


	7. Chapter 7

_**So our killer has ceased making his efforts look like accidents. Philippe's influence, or frustration that his earlier tries didn't succeed? As always, thank you so much for all your kind words, and for reading my story. Please continue to let me know what you think!**_

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Fr. Luc was rounding the corner near his home when he heard the explosion. Looking ahead, he saw that it had come from his house! Aramis!

He began to run, hoping his friend was all right, but with a sinking feeling inside.

People were already beginning to emerge from their homes, staring at the sight.

Fr. Luc pushed through them and kept going, even though several men tried to grab hold of him to stop him. He was very much respected and loved by the people in the area, and they didn't want him to be hurt going any closer.

He fought them, saying, "Let go of me! My friend is in there! Let go!" finally pulling free and going on. Several men followed him, determined that if he was going into danger, they were going to go with him.

He pushed open the door that had been dislodged from its hinges by the blast, and stepped inside. His house was destroyed! Everything had been flung about, rubble from the back walls lying in chunks on the ground. Aramis! Where was he?

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Aramis came back to consciousness shortly after having been flung across the room by the blast. He began coughing. He dazedly opened his eyes, confusion reflected in them. He was lying on the floor, rubble all around him. Rubble? What happened? He tried to lift himself up, only to find he couldn't move. He choked and coughed again. There seemed to be a thick dust in the air which was causing his lungs to try to empty the amount he had breathed in. What was wrong? His legs wouldn't move. He pulled them again. Nothing. Looking down, he panicked when he saw that his legs were pinned under something.

He realized that his left arm was in quite a bit of pain, to go with the pounding ache in his head. Looking, he saw that there was a large gash in his arm, from which he was bleeding rather profusely. He tried again to free himself, to no avail.

His memory slowly came back to him. He had been helping clean up in the kitchen after breakfast, when he heard an explosion. He remembered being thrown clear across the kitchen, but didn't remember anything after that.

With that memory, his worry shot up. Fr. Luc. Where was his friend? Trying to look around him, he saw no one else, just the devastated kitchen. Where was he?

Then another memory came to him. Fr. Luc had gone to the vendor's carts for food supplies. Relief flooded Aramis as he realized his friend hadn't been caught in whatever had happened here.

But he would be coming back. Was this explosion part of the deadly staged accidents that had been happening to him? What if the man was still around, ready to attack again. Fr. Luc could be walking into danger!

Desperately trying again to free himself, he pulled and pulled, but his legs wouldn't budge and neither would whatever was holding him down. Panting with the effort he had expended, scared for another innocent friend possibly being killed or injured because of him, his heart was torn.

As for himself, he was utterly helpless if the unknown assailant came after him now. He was pinned down, injured and had no weapons anywhere near him. He was a brave man, but natural fear filled him now. He had no idea if what had happened was finished or would happen again, and he couldn't get himself free.

He began to pray fervently.

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"Aramis! ARAMIS!" Fr. Luc called, frantically looking around in the devastated ruins of what had been his home. Where was he? he thought.

Then, he remembered that Aramis had been cleaning up from their morning meal. Looking in that direction, his heart flip-flopped.

The partial wall that had had been between the kitchen and part of the main room in his home was destroyed, pieces from it strewn everywhere. If Aramis was under there...He wouldn't let himself think it was too late.

Heading towards the kitchen area, he began again to call his friend's name. "Aramis!" he shouted over and over, but nothing.

Then, a few moments later, he thought he heard a scratchy voice trying to answer.

"Aramis! Hold on! I'm coming!"

He saw him as he got closer. His friend was lying on his back on the floor, covered with dust and rubble from whatever had happened while he had been gone.

Crouching down beside Aramis, Fr. Luc asked him, "Are you injured?"

Aramis took a moment to clear his throat, then tried answering, the dust he kept breathing in hindering his efforts so that he had to stop every few seconds.

"Explosion...head...arm bleeding."

While Aramis was saying this, Fr. Luc's breath caught in his throat in panic. Aramis' legs were caught. The beam from the ceiling had come down and pinned him to the floor!

Turning, he called to the men who had followed him in, so glad they had done so now.

"Jacques! Marc! Andre! My friend is pinned by a wooden beam, and can't move. Please help me to lift it off of him!"

They rushed to help, and between Fr. Luc and themselves, they finally freed Aramis, although it took several tries. The beam was stubborn in refusing to move the first few times for them.

They gently lifted Aramis from the floor, and between them carried him outside into the fresh air. One of the ladies from the neighborhood had lain her apron on the ground, and they laid Aramis down on it. By now, he was close to losing consciousness again.

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Fr. Luc began to examine his friend, then belatedly remembered-his dear friends needed to know what has happened. Catching the arm of one of the men who had assisted him, he asked him, "Could you do me one more favor please, Marc? Do you know where the Musketeers garrison is?" knowing from experience that almost everyone knew where it was.

Receiving a solemn nod, he continued. "Could you please go and ask for Athos? Tell him Aramis is here and injured," adding, "Aramis is also a Musketeer."

He watched as the man took off, then returned his attention to his friend. Aramis had stubbornly stayed conscious, even though Fr. Luc could tell he was on the edge of losing his battle to remain so.

He first checked Aramis' legs, relieved to find that nothing seemed to be broken. But both legs were horribly bruised, and had to hurt badly. There was nothing he could do for them to ease the pain right now, but hoped the Musketeers would have a physician ready at the garrison when they got Aramis back there who would have something to give him.

When he next checked his friend's arm, he wished even more fervently that he had any medical supplies at all. The gash in his left arm was nasty, and had not stopped sluggishly bleeding. Fr. Luc was about to tear a piece from the bottom of his robes, when another lady bystander came forward, saying, "Father, I will go get some towels."

Off she ran, and a few minutes later returned with clean towels. "Thank you, Marie," and proceeded to tear a strip off of and bind the gash with it. He hoped that would be all right until he could get proper medical attention.

Checking, he could see no other bad injuries, just a host of bruises and slight cuts. But, as he looked at Aramis' squinting his eyes shut in pain, he asked, "Is there anywhere else that you are injured, my friend?"

Aramis hesitated, then replied truthfully, "My head. It hurts a bit."

Fr. Luc, from something remembered from their past, knew of Aramis' penchant for hiding injuries, so he knew the head must be doing a lot more than simply 'hurting a bit'. Gently prodding, he knew from Aramis' reaction where the pain was coming from. He would have known anyway, as he could feel the raised bump on the left side of his head. Again, taking another strip from the towel, he wrapped it around Aramis' head, then gathering his friend's upper body gently into his arms, settled down as much as he was able to wait for Aramis' friends to arrive.

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Marc shouted for Athos as soon as he came through the garrison gates. He had never been there before, so he didn't know where this Athos might be.

He had barely walked another step before four men materialized from different areas of the garrison, all heading for him.

When they reached him, one of them said, "I am Athos. May I help you?" being polite, yet on pins and needles hoping this might possibly have something to do with their missing brother.

The man was nervous being suddenly surrounded by four heavily armed men. Looking at Athos, he stuttered, "Fr. Luc. He asked me to come here."

Their faces all showed more intense interest. They recognized the name of Aramis' friend instantly.

"Has something happened to our friend?" Athos demanded.

"There was an explosion at Fr. Luc's house while he was gone. Your friend was in there. We helped Fr. Luc get him out, but he is injured. Father wants you to come right away."

"Lead the way," Athos replied, and all of them followed the man out of the garrison, their worry heightened now by this news. How badly was Aramis injured? And was it the unknown attacker again? What if he was still nearby? They urged their guide faster, and they moved as quickly as possible through the crowded streets of the city.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan flew around the corner following Marc, only to come to a dead halt at the sight which greeted them. A church was to the left, and next to it was a house with holes blown into its walls and a roof that now sagged and threatened to cave in at any moment.

But that was not what drew their complete attention and compelled them forward, running as fast as their legs would take them. Fr. Luc sat in the middle of the road, cradling the limp body of their unconscious brother.

Dropping to their knees around him, Porthos asked, "How is he, Father?"

"He is just fine," a barely audible voice responded.

"Aramis!" three voices chimed simultaneously.

Fr. Luc said, "It is good to see you awake again, Aramis. But," he continued, looking around at each of the concerned faces of Aramis' brothers, "you are most certainly not fine, my friend."

At these words, he drew the startled attention of three pairs of eyes. Seeing their questioning faces, he said, "A few years ago, Aramis shared with me a distressing habit he has, one that he had just upset you all doing. He first told me he has a tendency to downplay his injuries as well as as his illnesses, and that particular time, he realized he had really hurt your feelings badly. Needless to say, we continued the rest of the conversation as a confession."

"So how is he, Father?" Athos asking the question they all wanted to know.

"He has a sizable bump on the left side of his head, and a rather nasty gash in his left arm. As far as I can tell, neither leg has any broken bones, even though a wooden beam from the kitchen ceiling was lying across then pinning him down when I found him."

All three of his friends' faces stared down at him, their level of worry having rapidly increased as the priest had catalogued Aramis' injuries.

Fr. Luc continued, "As I said, as far I could tell there are no broken bones. But I am not a doctor. I cleaned quite a bit of dust and grime from the cut on his arm. I am hoping that I got it all out, and that he will not develop any infections. The legs do have quite a lot of bruising, which could cause him much pain for a good while to come. They are also badly cut and scraped, probably from his trying to free himself from the beam The bump on his head is probably what is causing him to fade in and out of consciousness. As you have probably noticed, he is not with us again."

They had indeed seen that Aramis had fallen asleep once again, despite his having tried his best to stay awake for them.

Athos said, "He and head injuries have never fared well together, Father."

Fr. Luc spoke up again, saying, "I think it might be a good idea to move him while he is out again. It will save him from the pain the moving will cause. We can find something to carry..."

Porthos interrupted him. "I will carry him, Father." It wasn't posed as a question, but presented as a statement of fact, and everyone accepted it that way.

Porthos reached down and gently took Aramis from Fr. Luc's arms. As he was lifting him up, they all heard him say, "Fr. Luc, you..." He stopped, coughing again. "You have...to come to the..." the coughing interrupting him again.

"Don't try to talk right now, Aramis. We can talk..."

But Aramis became slightly agitated." It's not...safe for you...here. He ...might...come back...please stay...at the garr..." He didn't get any further, as he passed out again.

He had barely been conscious enough, but his thoughts had been about his friend's safety, not his own. His brothers and Fr. Luc looked at each other with sad smiles. Even in his present condition, Aramis was always putting someone he loved first. That was their Aramis.

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They were just starting back when d'Artagnan shouted."He's been watching us from behind the house next door," drawing his pistol and beginning to run in the direction he had indicated.

Athos, watching him run, said to Porthos and Fr. Luc, "Please take Aramis back to the garrison. I need to back d'Artagnan." Turning to the neighborhood onlookers, he said, "Would several of you men accompany my friends to our garrison? Whoever did this is still at large and may have been watching. He needs to be caught," not waiting to see if his request was answered, but taking off after d'Artagnan, confident that they would do as he asked.

Porthos again started back carrying Aramis, as four men detached themselves from the crowd and surrounded them, protecting them from any threats that might materialize.

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Athos followed a distant and sprinting d'Artagnan around the corner of the house, and saw him already nearly at the far end of the building, searching for the figure he had seen. He came around the corner himself, watching d'Artagnan. He didn't see someone move behind him from the ruins of Fr. Luc's house, and swing a pistol at his head, causing him to drop like a stone upon impact, and lay still on the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

Porthos, cradling his precious burden closely in his arms, had turned and begun the long walk back to the garrison, anxious for a physician to see Aramis as soon as possible. But he had taken no more tha a handful of steps when he realized that his other brothers had both disappeared.

He was just about to ask some of the neighborhood men who were still milling around the are to go fin out about Athos and d'Artagnan. But just then, Treville and several more Musketeers rounded the corner, and headed straight for him. He blew out a hugh sigh of relieft at the sight.

"One of the men informed me of what happened," Treville told him. "How is Aramis?" looking with great concern down at his unconscious marksman.

"Something caused an explosion in Fr. Luc's house," Porthos replied, "and Aramis was caught in it. We found him with his legs pinned beneath a beam that had come down."

"What are his injuries?"

"Looks like he has a concussion. He keeps fading in and out. He has a bad gash on his forearm, and a lot of bruising about his body. But his legs have the worst bruising. They're totally black and blue. We did a quick check, and didn't feel any broken bones, but he still needs to have a doctor look to make sure."

"Take him back to the garrison, Porthos," Treville said. "Michel, get Dr. Lemay to the garrison as quickly as you can, " he told one of his men, who took off running.

"Captain, d'Artagnan thought he saw someon hiding behind the house watching us. He may be the man who has been after Aramis. D'Artagnan took off after him. Athos didn't want him walking into trouble without backup, so he took off to catch up with him. Neither of them has come back," Porthos spoke as he began heading down the street, worry for his missing brothers added to the one he held gently against his chest.

"We will take care of it, Porthos. Just get Aramis back. We need to get him checked out as soon as possible," said Treville, already turning and issuing orders to his men to spread out and head around the back of the house from both sides.

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D'Artagnan had come back around the edge of the house just in time to see Athos felled with the handle of a pistol by a man with a scarf around his face and his hat pulled low on his forehead. Taking off at a run, he yelled "Hey," at the man, who increased his speed running away.

By the time d'Artagnan had reached Athos, the mysterious stranger had disappeared between two houses further on. D'Artagnan would have continued to pursue him if he hadn't seen blood streaked across Athos' forehead. He wouldn't leave his brother in the dirt alone. He thought angrily to himself, that man is going to be one sorry person when we finally catch up with him.

D'Artagnan reached out a hand to lay on Athos' shoulder, hoping he would wake up. Before he got that far, Athos' head moved, and he groaned.

"Athos!" d'Artagnan softly said. "Lie still for a few minutes. The man I was chasing caught you as you came around the corner, used the handle of a pistol. You need to give it a few minutes before trying to get up, all right?" rubbing his brother's shoulder gently.

Athos was silent for a few moments, then asked, "Did Porthos finally leave with Aramis?"

"Yes," said d'Artagnan, "and we are being joined by a few Musketeers. The Captain must have come," as several men came into Athos' sight.

"Vincent," Athos said, "getting the young man's attention. "Is Treville indeed here?"

"Yes, he is. He had us come around the house from both sides. We didn't see anyone, though."

D'Artagnan said, "He took off before you arrived. He will be long gone by now. We will catch him soon," and the tone of voice he used told them he wanted to get his hands on the man badly.

Athos began to lift himself up, d'Artagnan instantly reaching to assist him. He was able to get to his feet, but was dizzy, so d'Artagnan and Vincent grabbed a shoulder each to support him a little. Then, they slowly came around to the front of the house where everyone was still gathered.

"D'Artagnan, go with Athos back to the garrison. I want Lemay..."

Athos interrupted, "I do not need a doctor, Captain. Just a few..."

It was Treville's turn to interrupt, saying, "This is not open to debate. You will let Dr. Lemay take a look at you, and even if he says you are fine, you will take the rest of today off, as well as tomorrow. Understood?"

Athos knew when he was defeated, so reluctantly nodded his head. He, d'Artagnan and Vincent turned around and headed back to the garrison.

Treville got his men's attention, then said, "Canvas the neighborhood. See if anyone has seen this man lurking around, or anything else that seems suspicious. Report back to me when you are finished. Dismissed!"

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About halfway back to the garrison, Aramis came awake coughing again. He tried to speak, but couldn't quite get the words out through the coughs. "What...wh..." is as far as he got before hacking again. Porthos had noticed, though, that his brother had been wincing as he spoke. What was wrong? He was going to look over his whole body once he got him into a bed.

"We are on the way back to the garrison, Aramis. Lemay may already be there. Maybe he can get the rest of the stuff out so you stop coughing. Just don't try talking, all right?" giving Aramis a gentle squeeze as he said this. And just like that, he was out again.

The in and out of consciousness was really disturbing Porthos. What kind of concussion is this, he thought. Aramis has had concussions before, they all had, but the symptoms were different than the ones he had ever exhibited. He just hoped it wasn't anything bad. Porthos had no medical training, so when symptoms he didn't usually see started happening, he got a little more worried.

They finally reached the garrison gates, and a few minutes later, Porthos had Aramis laid on a bed in the infirmary. Grabbing a couple of wet cloths, he began cleaning away the dirt and grime from the explosion from his face and body with gentle pats. He was relieved when he didn't uncover anything new. That was, there wasn't anything new until he turned Aramis on his side to reach around to his back to clean.

Several long slivers of wood were imbedded in the skin on his back. He tried gently pulling on one of them to get it out, not expecting the reaction. Aramis shot straight up with an agonized cry.

Porthos pulled him against his chest again, soothing him, saying, "Sorry about that, mon ami. Just trying to clean you up a little-in case one of your lady friends comes calling," trying to tease him to calm Aramis down.

Porthos began threading his fingers through Aramis' hair, as they all knew that was a soothing motion that often worked if he was sick or injured. It did so once again, as after a few moments, his body relaxed and quieted. Unfortunately, Aramis was out again, though. Porthos eased his brother's body back down on the bed, this time keeping him sideways to keep the slivers from being pushed further into his skin. Then, he got to work carefully extracting them.

Porthos continued to take care of Aramis. He found Aramis' medic bag, and searched through it until he found the salve he had seen his brother use on cuts and bruises. He rubbed it in on the numerous ones he found on his brother's body, shaking his head at how many there were. After he had used it on the gash on his arm, he wound a clean cloth around it, and sat back. I hope Lemay gets here soon, he thought. I don't know that much about medical stuff, so he needs to make sure I took care of all of it.

He again wondered, as they all had, why his friend was being targeted like this. Aramis was the kindest, most caring individual he had ever known. The man would drop whatever he was doing to help anyone in time of need, even at the risk of his own life. He had saved each of his brother's lives more times than he could name. He continually sought more medical expertise to make himself of even more help. He was so very loved by himself, Athos, d'Artagnan, Treville and who knew how many others. Why would someone do this-and do it repeatedly in various ways and in different areas of Paris? They would find out, of this he was sure, and whoever it was would be sorry he was every born, Porthos swore to himself.

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Dr. Lemay arrived a short while later. As he looked over Aramis, he shook his head, asking Porthos, "Why would anyone do this?" to which Porthos had no answer.

Lemay inspected him thoroughly, glad his patient was not conscious while he was doing so, as he could do it more quickly. He told Porthos he did a very good job, and then said, "We need to keep an eye on that gash, and hope it doesn't show any signs of infections. The legs have no broken bones, which is very good. But they are going to be extremely painful for him for at least a week or so, as there is some deep bone bruises. The head injury concerns me. You say he keeps coming to, then passing out again?" to which Porthos answered by nodding his head with a question in his eyes.

Lemay shook his head again, saying, "We need to keep a close eye on that, too. Hopefully, that will cease soon. If not, there might be something more serious causing it that we will need to be concerned about. Keep applying the salves. When he wakes up, try to get some liquids into him. He may not want to eat anything solid yet. Concussions tend to make many patients nauseous. I will be back tomorrow. If you need me sooner, just send someone for me, and I will be here as quickly as possible. Good day, Porthos."

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Not long after the good doctor left, d'Artagnan came through the infirmary door supporting Athos, who was now moving fairly easily. D'Artagnan just wanted to make sure his brother was really doing that much better, and not just saying he didn't need any assistance.

He insisted that Athos lay down on a bed next to Aramis for a while to give his head further rest, to which Athos glared at himand protested vehemently. "I need to see how Aramis is. I do not need a bed."

What none of them expected was a weary, faint voice saying, "Athos, lay down on the bed."

Looking over at their brother, they found his eyes once more open and concerned, as he got a look at Athos. Athos had been so surprised that he automatically did as he was asked, although his eyes never left his brother's.

Aramis had a note of worry in his voice now as he asked, "What happened?"

D'Artagnan looked at Athos and Porthos, not sure if they should be sharing right now in Aramis' condition. Aramis saw the looks and his face morphed into lines of worry as he said, "Will someone please..."stopping to cough again. "Will someone please tell me what is going on?"

Exchanging looks again, they resigned themselves to telling him what happened, as even if he was injured and barely awake, Aramis could be like a dog with a bone when he wanted to know about the state of their health or any danger they might have been in. He just looked up at them with a raised brow and waited.

D'Artagnan began, "After we found you, I saw someone watching from around the corner of the house. I took off after him. I didn't know at the time, but Athos came after me to be backup. Just as I was rounding the opposite corner of the house, Athos was waylaid by the man with the butt of a pistol."

At this, the worried expression in Aramis' eyes greatly increased. He intently looked at Athos, asking him, "How is your head?"

Athos, who had disliked having what he considered a mistake on his part of not watching his own back being recounted now, said, "I am all right. There is some pain, but manageable. You are the one I am concerned about,brother."

Aramis started to reply that he was 'fine', but instead, his eyes again closed. Athos and d'Artagnan, worry on their faces, looked at Porthos, and Athos asked, "Has Dr. Lemay been here yet?"

Porthos replied, "Yeah. He checked him over. Said he was concerned about Aramis not being able to stay conscious for very long. He also said for us to keep an eye on the gash on his forearm, that it doesn't get an infection in it."

They all three settled down, Athos at his brothers' insistance lying down on the bed next to Aramis, and Porthos and d'Artagnan on chairs at Aramis' bedside to keep watch, which they always did when any of the four was sick or injured.

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Philippe leaned back in his seat, stretching out his legs to the fire in his father's luxurious room at the palace. Idly, he leaned his elow on the arm of the richly upholstered chair, a wine-filled crystal goblet in his hand.

His thoughts turned to the subject that had occupied his mind for some time now-revenge. How sweet it would be when it came fully to its frution, he mused. And it may be close to happening now.

He had just received a note informing him that the explosion had gone off as planned, and that the Musketeer had been injured in it. So what they had orchestrated had been successful! Now, if only the wretched man indeed did die, he would have his revenge.

He himself wouldn't have cared which of the four obnoxious Musketeers died. It would serve his obsession for vengeance no matter which one it was, as he had heard the talk at the palace about the Inseparables, as they were called, and how much they cared for each other. If one of them was killed, it would break the hearts of the other three. Perfect justice, in his eyes, for all four of them.

His 'partner', however, had one condition that had to be met for the end to be attained through the partnership they had forged. The Musketeteer to die had to be Aramis. The man had refused to share his reason why, but Philipped had eagerly agreed anyway.

The only part of the shared vendetta he cringed from was his having to enter into such an endeavor with a commoner, a man so far beneath him that he shuddered to remember having had to shake hands with him to seal their agreement. Normally, he barely even noticed the existence of commoners, peasants in his mind, whom he regarded as unworthy of existence except for serving him. But in this one instance, he had lowered himself to achieve his ends.

LIfting his glass in a mock toast, he silently hoped their common goal had been achieved.

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Athos and Porthos sat silently beside their beleaguered brother's bedside, both of them now worried as they tried to calm Aramis' restlessness. It had begun a short while ago, accompanied by a slight rise in his temperature. Athos had sent one d'Artagnan to find and bring back Dr. Lemay, hoping with Porthos and d'Artagnan that Aramis' symptoms were not signalling the onset of an infection.

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The young man, watching in the shadows, fervently hoped infection was indeed setting in, and that it would take Aramis' life. It would save him having to plan yet another attempt on the Musketeer.

Backing away silently, the man slipped out the back door of the infirmary. Wrapped in a black cloak and hat, the figure faded into the dark of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Dr. Lemay arrived, Aramis' temperature had gone down and he was sleeping peacefully. His brothers' worry levels had quieted down, too.

Lemay checked Aramis out thoroughly, then said, "You did well to send for me. That temperature could just as easily have gone up instead of down, and the more quickly it would have been treated, the better. Please do not hesitate to send for me again if things change, he said as he was leaving.

The Musketeers decided on a rotation among themselves so that one of them was always at Aramis' side while the others got some rest. They didn't want him left alone with a killer on the loose.

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The two veterans stood at attention before Treville, who sat behind his desk looking intently at his men.

"You are certain?" he asked them.

"Yes, Captain, we are sorry to say," the senior of the two replied.

"We are very lucky then, that Aramis is even alive," Treville said softly, shaking his head over the information provided by the men he had sent to investigate. "So, someone threw a grenade down through the chimney, which exploded upon impact when it landed. It shouldn't be too difficult to find out who would have been able to obtain a grenade. There are not many ways to get them: the army, maybe the Red Guards, and ourselves. I want you two to continue your investigation, but keep quiet about it. I wouldn't think anyone would be able to get into any of them, especially ours, but I also don't want to take any chances. . I will have to obtain permission to get into the Army's stores. I want this man apprehended before he has another chance at Aramis. Good work. Dismissed!"

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After a peaceful night, Aramis awoke to look up into Porthos' smiling eyes.

"Good morning,sleepyhead. We thought you might sleep through the day like you did last night," Porthos teased him. "You hungry?" he asked, just as Athos and d'Artagnan joined them.

At Aramis' nod, d'Artagnan took off for the kitchen to see what Serge might have for breakfast, always eager to do things for his brothers.

Aramis was silent for a few more moments, then asked, "Fr. Luc?"

He had no sooner spoken than the door opened and his friend walked in, causing Aramis' face to split into a grin.

"How are you this morning, my friend?" he asked Aramis.

"Better now that I see that you did come to the garrison," Aramis replied.

"I really should get back to see what can be done about the house," Fr. Luc said.

Instantly, the smile disappeared from Aramis' face, replaced by lines of worry. "You can't go back alone until whoever is doing this has been apprehended," he said. Whoever this is might have thought you saw something when you came back and found me."

"I must go," Fr. Luc responded. "I have responsibilities. I also need to see if there was any damage to the church from the explosion."

Aramis was about to remonstrate with his friend again when Athos spoke up.

"I believe a compromise is in order, gentlemen. Fr. Luc, will you accept an escort of several of our men? You can check out your church and home, as well as assure your parishioners of your wellbeing and of where you are staying should they have need of you. In the meantime, until the killer is caught, you can stay in the room here at the garrison."

Seeing that the priest was about to object and guessing the probably reason why, he next said, "If your people need you, I am certain our captain will permit temporary access to you here in your room. They would just need to stop at the gate to identify themselves. Does this meet with your approval?"

Fr. Luc, not wanting to put everyone to such an inconvenience, was about to decline the offer, when he caught the look Aramis was giving him. He was still in considerable pain, but all of his attention was focused on his friend's answer, with a hope in his expression that his friend couldn't refuse.

Looking again at Athos, he slowly nodded his assent. An audible sigh of relief issued from Aramis, and everyone smiled at the agreement.

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After Fr. Luc had left with his escort, d'Artagnan came back with a tray heavily laden with dishes. Serge's idea of getting Aramis well was to feed him as much as food as possible. None of the Musketeers could contain their grins at the amount of food on the tray.

Porthos insisted on feeding Aramis, over his brother's objections. "You need to rest that arm, let the gash have a chance to heal. One of the ways to do that is to keep it laying quiet for a while, all right?" he asked Aramis.

Realizing he wasn't really being given a choice in the matter, Aramis sighed dramatically, which just made Porthos laugh.

He was able to finish the porridge chock full of cooked apple slices, and then a thick piece of bread, slathered with butter and jam. Then he leaned back, not able to finish another bite, which gave Porthos a chance to stuff himself, as well.

Moments later, Aramis was asleep. They could tell he had still been in pain while he was eating but had been trying to hide it from them, so they were glad when he gave in to his weariness and fell asleep.

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In a small, run-down house in another section of Paris, the author of Aramis' troubles was very well-satisfied with himself.

He had been unhappy the night before. before leaving the garrison after eavesdropping on the Musketeers in the infirmary. he had overheard a couple of the men talking about Aramis not having contracted the infection that the whole garrison had been worried he might have.

Aramis was a very well-liked men among the Musketeers, and everyone had been highly upset at what had been happening to him, especially the latest episode. At least, the eavesdropper heard, the doctor who had been called had said he had not contracted an infection from his injuries.

The young man had been beside himself when he had heard this. 'That man will not escape me so easily', he swore to himself, he vowed to himself.

He smiled as he remembered his trip to the kitchen that morning, and that he had been able to do what he had wanted without drawing any attention at all.

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At the palace, Louis and Richelieu had just been informed about what had been happening to Aramis. Treville hadn't been too thrilled with the Cardinal finally having knowledge of the affair, but if he wanted permission to check into the stores of weapons of the Army and the Red Guards, both men had to be informed.

"Are you certain these attacks are not the results of a jealous husband, Treville," Richelieu snidely inferred.

Treville could feel his blood begin a slow boil at Richelieu's words. How the Cardinal knew of some of Aramis' nocturnal habits, he didn't know, but the man had a hand in so many pies, it shouldn't have surprised him. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, the Captain replied, "Yes, Your Eminence, I am. I have had men investigating thoroughly since the first attempt was made. This latest try was facilitated by a hand grenade, which was thrown down the chimney of a priest friend's house while Aramis was visiting him. It destroyed his friend's home. We need to check the sources from which this unknown man got his bomb."

Louis, who had been silent thus far through the conversation, piped up now. "Of course we do, Captain. We cannot have a member of my personal guard being attacked like this, and throwing explosives around Paris. Why, if this villain can get to my Musketeers, he might possibly even be able to attack me," almost shuddering at the possibility.

With Louis, most things came back to whether there was a possibility of affecting him. In this case, there was a possibility now, in Louis' mind, of his personally being in danger. Treville was well aware of Louis' thought processes, and inwardly smiled at Richelieu's now being forced to give in and grant permission for his request. It was the reason Treville had asked to speak to both men to begin with.

He left well satisfied, but made sure he didn't let his satisfaction show to Richelieu, who had a well-known history of retaliation.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Athos was sitting with Aramis an hour after he had eaten his breakfast.

Athos mulled over the incidents his brother had gone through, trying to find anything that would enable them to identify his attacker. He thought to himself, 'maybe we can trace him fron whatever place he stole the explosives, unwittingly figuring out just what Treville had so recently learned.

His musings were suddenly interrupted when Aramis began to move about very restlessly in his sleep. Figuring that his brother was having a nightmare, Athos leaned down to comfort him when he froze, seeing the sheen of sweat now covering his brother's face.

Laying his hand on Aramis' chest, he could feel how hard his heart was now beating, which further increased his anxiety.

"No," he thought worriedly, "we just found out you did not have an infection. You cannot have developed one now," although what little medical knowledge he possessed told him the signs were present in front of him.

As he tried to comfort his increasingly restless brother, he heard Porthos and d'Artagnan come back.

Without even turning around, he said, "D'Artagnan, go get Dr. Lemay...quickly."

D'Artagnan took off as soon as the the words had left Athos' mouth. Porthos headed for the bed.

"What..."he started to ask, freezing when he saw Aramis' condition.

"It seems the infection we avoided yesterday has caught up with him today," Athos softly said, his eyes never leaving his brother.

A moment later, Aramis opened his eyes, but it was evident that he was not lucid. His eyes were dilated and moving wildly around, not focusing on anything.

A few moments later, they had barely any warning before everything in his stomach rebelled. Porthos hurriedly turned him over the side of the bed, the contents of his stomach now on the floor.

They settled him back on the bed, but Porthos needed to restrain him, as he continued to increase in restlessness.

His temperature had risen again, and he seemed unaware of anything around him. He had turned increasingly pale, and his heart rate had sped up again, causing his breathing to come in ragged gasps. From the way he tried to curl up with a hand across his stomach, it seemed to indicate an upset there, as well.

Athos began to be very uneasy as he thought about the symptoms. There were symptoms evident now that weren't typical of an infection. He had seen enough of them to know. They looked like...

He stopped the thought, horrified to think someone could have done to his brother what he now was afraid had happened, and they had done so inside the garrison in the midst of the regiment.


	10. Chapter 10

Dr. Lemay arrived in good time, his forehead furrowed as he said, "He had no infection when I left. What happened?"

"Dr. Lemay," Athos said, "More symptoms have now appeared since we sent for you. I now do not believe it to be an infection." Lemay could see the stricken expression on Athos' face,and knew he wasn't going to like what he would tell him next.

"I am very much afraid he has been poisoned, but I am not an expert in the matter. I am hoping you can tell me I am wrong, but I do not believe that I am," he said, moving out of the way to allow the doctor to replace him at Aramis' bedside.

All three of Aramis' brothers, in addition to Treville, who had quietly arrived when he had seen the doctor heading for the infirmary again, stood waiting while Lemay did a thorough examination of Aramis. Porthos and Athos moved back closer to the bed a few moments into the exam, though, as Aramis' restless movements in obvious distress was causing Lemay too much trouble to be able to check him out fully.

They grabbed his legs and arms as gently but firmly as possible to keep him still. They could feel the tremors running through his body, as well as the heat radiating off of him, and their worry increased. Porthos got behind him, and lifted his upper body into his arms, holding him close.

Lemay was mostly silent as he worked. It took him some time, but finally he was finished. Turning to address them, he said, "Unfortunately, it does appear as though Aramis has been poisoned," getting no further as all four men, shock evident on their faces as they had evidently hoped to be proven wrong in the suspicion Athos had voiced earlier, said, "Poison?! But how?"

Lemay continued. "The easiest way to poison someone is through their food. It can be mixed into the dish, and not be as evident to the eye. I am a little familiar with the routine dishes you are served, and in my mind, the easiest one to employ would be the porridge. You need to talk to everyone who has been in the kitchen while food preparation was conducted this morning."

Porthos spoke up,saying, "That would explain why none of the food affected me. I fed all of the porridge to Aramis, so there was none left to finish off. He also had a little bread. I ate the egg and a slice of ham, and they would have been the hardest to keep disguised."

D'Artagnan interjected, "Almost all of the men would have been in there, like every morning. It's a serve yourself kind of meal. It's always crazy, lots of moving around, with all of us filling our own bowls and plates."

"The hired men also would have been in the kitchen, as they come for their meal at the same time," Treville added. "It drives Serge crazy some mornings, because he can't begin his preparation for the noonday meal until the place clears out."

"I wish I had looked more closely at the dishes as I brought them here," d'Artagnan said quietly, feeling guilty at not noticing anything.

"How could you have suspected something like this would happen in the garrison, d'Artagnan," Athos said to him, not wanting him to feel guilty.

"He already has most of the symptoms," Lemay said. "He may get chills, and probably delusions and nightmares," seeing the Musketeers glance even more worriedly at each other, and knowing why.

He knew about Aramis' nightmares that came after Savoy, as well as his more recent ones, which had begun after the incident with the wolves. He was concerned, as they all were, as none of them wanted the terror of his dreams to come back. They already had once, after the dog attack.

How much more could their brother's mind and body take, they all thought sadly.

Lemay left with some instructions. he said they should try to get as many fluids into him as possible, as they could help wash the poison out of his system faster. But he told them not to give him any solid food for the moment, as he wouldn't be able to keep even a couple of bites down, that is, if they could even get him to take them in the first place. They were to give him only clear broths, if possible. He told them to try colling his fever down with cold cloths, and not to leave him alone at any time, something he knew they wouldn't do anyway.

After he left, Treville, shaking his head sadly, said, "Needless to say, your sole mission right now is to do everything you can to pull him through. Whatever you need, just let me know," laying his hand on his marksman's before turning and leaving the room. He wanted to see if the men he had investigating the matter might have come up with something at last. They needed a break, and he wanted this unknown maniac in chains in the Chatelet as soon as possible.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Musketeers divided up their time at Aramis' bedside once more, having so recently hoped they had come to the end of doing so. Athos took first watch as he always did, while Porthos and d'Artagnan tried to get a little sleep. Athos wondered how much sleep any of them could get, as worried as they all were.

Why, Athos asked himself for the hundredth time. Why was someone doing this? And who, he continued, had the obvious access to the garrison to try the hay incident, and this latest one with Aramis' food, done right in the midst of all the Musketeers?

It had to be either one of the other Musketeers, a cadet, or someone who took care of the various jobs around the garrison which freed the regiment members to perform palace duties or to go on various missions for the king. He found it very hard to impossible to believe any of the men who he lived and worked with to be the evil mind behind these attacks. He knew all of these men, and Treville, Porthos and d'Artagnan did as well. But the evidence was too obvious to doubt it any more.

But which man was it? he continued, as he gently threaded his fingers through his brother's sweat-drenched curls, hoping it would calm his restlessness.

He could feel the heat radiating off of Aramis' body as the fever continued unabated. When he laid his other hand on his brother's breast, he could feel how fast his heartbeat still was, and his breathing continued to be much too fast.

Lemay's warning about nightmares had given him a jolt, but he really shouldn't have been surprised at the information, as Aramis had been through some pretty traumatic episodes in his life, and sometimes, they forced their way back into his mind. He just hoped that maybe this time, his brother could be spared any more of them.

Athos silently asked Aramis' God to heal his beloved brother. Although Athos sometimes grew frustrated with Aramis' actions, he loved him, as well as Porthos and d'Artagnan with a tenderness and fierceness rarely seen elsewhere. They were his family, and he would and did protect and care for him with every ounce of his being from being hurt or killed. This unknown assassin would pay dearly for what he had done.

But first, they would pull Aramis through this agony he was suffering. He didn't even want to contemplate his world without the presence of this brother he cherished.

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Treville looked at his two investigators intently, finding it hard to believe what they had just told him. But it fit, the pieces they had brought him fit to a tee. Language was going through his head now that would be highly inappropriate to use around any of his men.

A witness had come forward today, describing a man well-known in the garrison. Two Red Guards had also come forward to say that someone had seen a man hanging around not far away from their weapons room, and the description of him matched the one the witness had given. How dare this miserable excuse for a man work in the garrison and plot the death of one of his Musketeers?

He had seen him early this morning, too, getting his porridge and a heel of bread in the kitchen! That had to have been when the poison was put into Aramis' food.

He sent one of the men to tell Athos and the others the revelation, calling several of the other men to his side, and arming himself as he did so. He wanted to do take this ... this...he didn't even know what to call the man.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Treville headed for the stable, his hand on the handle of his pistol, and his men following right behind him.

Reaching the stable doors, instead of just opening the door, Treville took the flat of his hands and slammed it open. Stalking in, his eyes swept the stable area, the stalls, the supplies, the loft. Then, he swore aloud, something he never did around his men.

The stable was empty-neat at a pin, but empty.

Where had he gone, and had he somehow found out they were coming for him, or was it a coincidence that he was gone at this moment? He had no idea, but turning to his men, he gave rapid, succinct orders.

"I want the garrison spread out in every direction from the garrison gates. Find him! I want him in shackles in my office tonight. Dismissed!"

He was fuming. They had been so close. Somehow the man had eluded them, but he vowed it wouldn't be for very long.

Turning, he left the stables and headed for the infirmary. His Inseparables needed to know just how close this loathsome,evil man had been all this time.

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Treville walked into the infirmary just as Aramis bolted from the bed, scrambling into the corner behind it, frantically pushing himself as hard against the wall as he could, his hands out in front of him trying to ward off something. His breathing was harsh and erratic, coming in gasps, his eyes wide and darting everywhere. Then, his voice, "No! Wolves! Have to...get...a...way. And a scream of terror tore out of his throat.


	11. Chapter 11

Aramis' brothers approached him very slowly, knowing he wasn't seeing them at the moment, his frenzy and panic totally focused on what only he could see in front of him. They didn't want to raise his heartrate any further if they could help it.

"Aramis," Athos called softly. Aramis showed no signs of having heard him.

Athos looked over at his brothers. Porthos nodded, waited a short time, and called in a quiet voice, "Aramis, mon ami, you know us."

Again, nothing.

When d'Artagnan's attempt also went unheard, they stopped for a bit, but didn't back away. They stayed quiet and unmoving, hoping against hope that he would gradually become aware of his presence.

It worked, but not in the way they had hoped for.

After a few minutes, his eyes flickered towards them, but his eyes widened and he tried desperately to move back further. The wall prevented that. A low, keening sound came from him then, as he felt hemmed in and trapped by what he mistakenly believed were now all three wolves.

That did it for Porthos. Seeing that what they were doing was not working and worried sick about his friend, he came around from behind and put both arms around Aramis' chest. Aramis' reaction was instant, struggling frantically to get loose from what he in all probability believed were the ropes that had bound him during the wolf attack. Porthos swiftly eased his way behind Aramis on the bed, never loosening his hold of his brother, murmuring to him, "Aramis, you are all right. The wolves are gone. We killed them," several times, never speaking above a whisper to his traumatized brother.

Just when they had begun to believe nothing was going to work, Aramis' whole body shivered and he collapsed back against Porthos' shoulder, turning his head towards the direction of Porthos' voice with a small whimper.

They hadn't even realized they had been holding their breath as Porthos tried to get through to their brother. A collective sigh came now, as they saw that he had come out of the nightmare.

A moment later, Aramis sagged in Porthos' arms, falling asleep from exhaustion. Porthos gently lifted him into his arms and laid him on the bed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His brothers just stood there looking at one another with identical expressions of sadness at what was happening to their Aramis. They were gently interrupted by a distinct clearing of a throat, and looked around in surprise to see the Captain standing just inside the door.

"How long has he been like this?" Treville asked them.

"Since he woke up, Captain," Athos answered for all of them, "maybe..." looking out the window to see the sun had risen higher in the sky, and continued, "about an hour. I had lost track of the time until now."

"It is no wonder that you would," Treville replied sadly. "I came with news, but you will not like what I have to tell you," he said cryptically.

"What happened?" d'Artagnan asked for all of them.

"We have discovered who has been doing this ," Treville continued.

"What?" Three voices answered loudly in unison. "Who?"

"We almost had him. I had taken several men with me to arrest him, but he had taken off already. He obviously heard something, although I am not sure how he would have done that unless he was listening at my door."

"Who?" the asked insistently a second time.

"Bernard."

"What?!" They kept responding in unison, which would have been humorous under different circumstances. "The stable man?"

"How did you arrive at that conclusion?" Athos asked him.

"The two men I have had canvassing the area had a witness come to them today. They recognized who the man was describing right away. Then, two Red Guards also volunteered the information that someone had seen a man hanging around not far away from their weapons room."

"Red Guards?" Porthos scoffed. "Can we believe them?" with a look on his face that told them he didn't.

"Porthos, I think they have in their minds that if someone can attack a Musketeer, what is to stop him from turning on the Red Guards, too. Or it may be that these two had an attack of conscience, strange as that would be. But their description was almost identical to the other man who has come forward, so I would assume they are telling the truth."

"So Bernard is still on the loose," Athos said, glancing over at their brother, who for the moment was still and looked peaceful.

"We have half the garrison out combing the streets," Trevill said, looking into the eyes of each of his men. "We will find him. Meanwhile, I want you to make sure there are at least two of you here with Aramis at all times. We do not know where Bernard is yet or why he has been attacking Aramis."

With a last look at his sleeping soldier, Treville left the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the edge of the palace grounds, a solitary figure stood looking into the distance, his mind busy with his thoughts. He didn't notice someone approaching him until the man stook almost in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "I cannot be seen in public with the likes of you."

Bernard answered, "We are in this together, my lord. I have been discovered after our latest attempt."

Philippe's reaction was to back up, saying, "And you are leading them here? How dare you?!"

Bernard, unimpressed with the haughty nobleman's comments, replied, "You are in this with me whether you like it or not. And just remember, you came to me about our mutual endeavor."

"This cannot lead back to me. You need to find a place to keep out of sight until the hunt dies down," Philippe told him.

"I have one," Bernard said, looking at Philippe, and enjoying the nobleman's nervousness. It wasn't often, he thought, when an aristocrat could be made uncomfortable by a commoner. 'Coming down in the world to my level, aren't we,' he silently thought.

"Why are you bothering me then? You should already be out of sight."

"But you are my hiding place, my lord," Bernard slowly and confidently said.

Philippe's mouth almost dropped, before he recovered himself to say, "What are you talking about? Have you gone mad now, too?"

"You, my high and mighty lord, are going to provide me a hiding place. It will never even occur to them to think of looking inside the palace for me. Your rooms are the safest haven I could have," Bernard replied, immensely enjoying Philippe's discomfiture.

"You are mad," Philippe replied.

"No, actually I just use the cunning I was born with," Bernard replied.

"There is no way you are staying in my rooms," Philippe said.

Bernard started to walk away, saying back over his shoulder, "The Musketeer Captain might very much enjoy getting an anonymous note from a concerned citizen, wishing to aide the Musketeers in the apprehension of the heinous villain who has been attacking his soldier. Maybe I can also arrange to be given an anonymous reward, too," smiling as he heard the nobleman almost hiss in his fury and disbelief at a commoner's threat to him.

Philippe stalled, hoping Bernard would turn back and rescind his threat. When he showed no signs of doing so, Philippe reluctantly said, "Only for a few days. And you stay out of sight of my father and friends. They would have no hesitation in bringing you to justice, no matter what I would say to them. Do you understand?"

Bernard turned back then, a smile on his face from ear to ear as he said, "Whatever you say, my lord," knowing full well he now held the upper hand. Whistling, he followed Philippe, who dragged his feet leading him back to the palace.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis slept for a couple of hours, the most he had slept since being poisoned. His brothers began to hope that the poison had done its work and was leaving his body. But it wasn't to be.

The next two days were a mixture of alternating fever and chills, with anything they tried to get him to eat coming right back up, tremors, and the same recurring nightmare over and over again. Aramis hadn't been conscious at all, only at times semi-conscious, but with no recognition of his brothers, who continued to alternate being with him at his bedside.

It was early evening when Aramis' nightmares began once again. Their first sign was restlessness, his head tossing back and forth on the pillow.

Porthos was sitting beside him, Aramis' hand firmly held in his own. "Aramis?" he said quietly, so he wouldn't startle him. But Aramis' tossing continued.

Then, without any warning, he shot out of the bed, yanking his hand out of Porthos' hold. Clad only in his braies, he took off barefooted at a stumbling pace across the room, just as Athos came in the door and d'Artagnan awoke on the cot he had been sleeping on.

"Get a...away. Got to...get...away," talking to himself, Aramis veered to the left, away from the form he saw in front of him. But there was nowhere else to go, the room not that large.

He stopped, vaguely aware of moving forms, but whatever he might be under the influence of was telling him the wolves had come back.

He turned haltingly, but there was another form. His panic was growing worse, his breath coming in gasps. The fever was still with him, as they could see his face and upper body covered with a sheen of sweat. He didn't seem to know where else he could go to get away.

Athos stayed where he was, speaking softly. "Aramis, you are safe. The wolves are gone, brother."

Aramis shook his head vehemently. "No, they're here. See?" pointing with a shaking hand at a spot near the wall.

Athos decided at that moment on a different approach to try. Nothing else had brought him out of the nightmares for more than a little while. Maybe, just maybe he could try this.

Ever since the cluster of nightmares about the wolves had begun, Athos had doubted whether it was really the poison causing them. They didn't know what kind of poison he had in his system, so it was possible that these bad dreams and the poison were unrelated. Aramis had a history of bad dreams when he was badly injured or ill. Then, he had remembered also that the dog attack had brought on the first of them, and that had been before the poisoning. So he wanted to try something to find out. If it was the poison, what he was going to do wouldn't make a difference, but if it wasn't...

Making eye contact with Porthos and d'Artagnan, he let them know to take a step back. When they had done so, he spoke.

"Aramis, you know me." Aramis began to shake his head.

"Remember how you saved my life, Aramis?" Aramis cocked his head, the movement telling the others that he had heard what was said. Aramis was trembling now, weak from both the injuries from the explosion and from having been bedridden for so long. He didn't say anything, but they could tell he was still listening.

Aramis' head was now turned in Athos' direction.

But of what good, Aramis," he continued, his voice becoming softer still, "what good is it to have my life if I lose my brother's? You are my brother, Aramis. I love you. I do not wish to think of my life spent with your loss, mon ami. Come back to us."

Athos wasn't sure, the angle wasn't good, but he could swear he saw moisture at the edge of Aramis' eye. But his brother remained silent and still shaky on his feet.

Porthos began to speak then, taking his cue from Athos and speaking not much above a whisper.

"Aramis, it's me, Porthos. Don't be afraid of us. We won't hurt you. We killed those wolves. They're gone. Aramis, listen to me, please. You've saved all our lives so many times, how fierce you were taking care of me when we went to Athos' home? You are always there for each of us. You put your lives before your own.

But, if we don't have you, what do we have? You are my best friend, Aramis. Like Athos said, I don't want to think about living in this world without you. We've always had each other's back, and that's because we love each other. You've got to pull through this for us. Can you do that?"

Again silence. But he was definitely still listening to them.

D'Artagnan spoke up then, and softly as his brothers had.

"Aramis, in a way, you helped to save me, too. Remember how angry I was when you first met me? How vengeful? And you could have been angry right back. After all, I wanted very badly to kill Athos, your friend. But what did you do? After Athos was arrested, you came to me and asked me to work with you to find the real culprit! In a way, you refocused my life, Aramis. I would not be here now except for that turning point, focusing me on helping others. And you take the time to tell me how I should do things to be a good Musketeer.

I don't want to lose my friend. We just want you to fight this, Aramis. Don't let anyone take your life from you. Don't let this man with the vendetta win. Fight, please!"

They let Aramis digest what each of them had said for a few moments. At least, they hoped that was what he was doing. None of them knew for sure what was happening in his mind.

Athos spoke softly once more. "We are brothers, Aramis, in everything but blood. We love each other. We feel your pain, your anguish. We are in pain as well, because of it. Come back to us. You can do it. Will you?"

Aramis stood still, body still trembling, his eyes now looking down for the longest time. They just didn't know if they had reached him or not.

Athos thought 'if I'm wrong and the nightmares are not the same kind that he gets sometimes when he is seriously ill or injured, and are instead indeed from the poison, this will not work.'

They were so afraid of losing him. The poison could have already done too much damage, even if the nightmares weren't part of it. They had no way of knowing. But, at least, if hey could pull him through the nightmares, and could talk to him when he was lucid, they could tell more of what he was going through on the inside.

It was then as they watched, that his head slowly lifted, tears streaming down his face as he looked at them.


	12. Chapter 12

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan were overjoyed to see that Aramis was aware, his eyes lucid once again. As one, they were surrounding him in seconds, both gently hugging and supporting him. They could tell that he was very close to collapsing, despite the emerging smile on his face.

Porthos gathered him into his strong arms and deposited him on the bed,leaning against pillows that Athos and d'Artagnan had hurriedly plumped behind him, so he could recline instead of lay flat for a while, all of them smiling the whole time.

They immediately sat around the bed, still not quite believing that he was awake and alert once again.

"How do you feel, Aramis?" Athos asked him.

For once, Aramis responded truthfully. "Queasy stomach, headache and I'm sore," he said, his voice scratchy from disuse. "What happened?" he asked.

They looked at each other, wondering if they should tell him, but finally deciding to be honest. They knew their brother. He could tell if they were holding something back, just as they could tell when he was.

Athos, natural leader that he was, spoke up. "Aramis, during your recovery from the explosion, someone poisoned your porridge," hoping against hope that he wouldn't ask the obvious question next.

Whatever Aramis might have been expecting, that wasn't it. His jaw dropped as he said, "In the garrison? Who?"

Athos decided at that moment not to withhold who they knew that it was, either. "We now know that the person responsible for all of the attempts on your life was Bernard."

The only Bernard any of then knew was the stablehand, and Aramis sat there almost disbelieving, staring at him.

"Treville had a couple of the men investigating, and there are now witnesses who have come forward, including..." hesitating here as he realized how hard to believe his next words would be. "Including two Red Guards," watching his brother's reaction, which was even more incredulous than before.

"They have never done a good deed for us in all the time I have been a Musketeer," he said.

"Treville figured that what was happening to you might have been hitting a little too close to home for the two Red Guards who came forward," Athos said. "If someone could get to a Musketeer, then someone else who might one day have a grudge against one of them might be able to reach them, too. And they have enemies, as we do. Of course, given their behavior, they are more than likely to have more of them," he said drily.

At that moment the door opened, and Treville and Constance came in. When they saw Aramis awake and looking at them, big smiles broke out on both of their faces as they hurried to his bedside.

Constance beat Treville in speaking first. "It is so good to see you awake, Aramis. These three," indicating his brothers, "were beside themselves worrying about you."

Then, noticing the thin sheen of sweat on his face and neck and that his eyes were drooping, she frowned, saying, "Are you sure..." only to see Athos give an almost imperceptible shake of his head to warn her off.

"You haven't eaten in so long. You have to be hungry. Would you like me to get you some broth?" looking at him hopefully. She knew how concerned his brothers were that they hadn't been able to coax any food into him while he had been unconscious. At the same time, her mind was asking herself 'is the poison still in his system?'

Aramis answered for himself, "Maybe a little la..." before falling asleep mid-sentence.

Given all the things that he had been through, it was no wonder that Athos immediately felt for his brother's pulse, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding in when he found it.

"He is just very tired," he said touseling his brother's hair affectionately as he uttered the words.

Treville, who had been silent since entering the room, now spoke up. "What has been happening?" and they knew he meant how did Aramis finally wake up.

Athos pulled his gaze away from his brother as he said, "We have discovered that Aramis' nightmares were not the result of the poison. They are two different sets of symptoms, it seems."

"What was causing the nightmares then?

"The ordeal with the wolves that Jean put him through," Athos explained.

D'Artagnan interjected, "And the dog attack apparently triggered it again, as he experienced one once shortly after the attack happened."

Porthos said, "The poison is still affecting him some, though. He's still got a fever. We need to keep an eye on him yet."

"You three's duty is still taking care of him. I don't intend to send you on palace duty or any missions until we know for sure that he is completely over whatever poison Bernard gave him," Treville said, with an angry grimace as he said the stableman's name. It galled him to think they had been hoodwinked so badly by someone who had worked for them, who had been right under their noses the whole time.

Frowning, Treville continued, "We have men searching all over Paris with a fine-tooth comb, but it seems like he has vanished into thin air. He may very well have an accomplice that we know nothing about. If he does, that accomplice will face the same fate as Bernard when we catch up with them. He will be found, though. He will not escape us a second time," he finished determinedly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His brothers waited around his bedside for Aramis to once more awaken, just not sure how much the poison was affecting his mind and body yet. He was still alternating between fever and chills, but otherwise was sleeping calmly, which they were relieved to see.

Finally, after many hours of sleep, Aramis showed signs of waking up again.

Porthos leaned over and called softly, "Aramis, you with us?"

Aramis' eyes opened a fraction, and he squinted up at them.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Porthos asked.

"Hungry," was the surprising answer.

It took them a moment, but the smiles appeared again when they realized they could actually get some sustenance into him. He hadn't eaten since the poison had begun its reign.

"You want some porridge, or some broth maybe?"

"Maybe broth. I don't know how my stomach will react. It's all right at the moment," Aramis replied.

D'Artagnan went over to the fireplace to heat up the broth that Constance had brought hours ago.

Then, they noticed something else: he had no fever or chills! Unless it was a lull between symptoms, the poison may finally have run its course. They just couldn't seem to keep the smiles coming, and it seemed to be infectious, because Aramis now had one on his face, too.

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D'Artagnan went over to the fireplace to heat up the broth that Constance had brought hours ago.

Aramis hadn't been awake very long when his face scrunched up, and looking a little confused, asked, " Why?" He had returned, upon awakening, to the shocking revelation he had been given earlier. " What could I have done to him that he would do these things to me? I speak to him when I see him..."He was interrupted by a coughing spell.

Porthos got him some water, and he drank as if it was a lifeline. They hadn't been able to coax him into drinking much water while he had been unconscious, so he drank the water offered now as if he wanted to drink a lake of it. Porthos took it away after about 2/3 of a cup, and Aramis protested,reaching out to grab the cup. Porthos playfully batted his hand away, telling him, "You, better than us, know if you drink too much after a drought, it's gonna come back up. You can have more after the broth...if you behave yourself," knowing the look he would get from his brother as he said it.

Athos answered Aramis' earlier question by saying, "Right now, we have as yet no idea why he would do such things, Aramis. but be assured that we will get to the bottom of this mystery."

They engaged in other topics until the broth was heated, Serge had been so happy that Aramis was doing better that he had included a whole tray of plum tarts to accompany the broth,enough for all of them. Aramis' eyes lit up when the tray was set on the table beside his bed. Porthos told him, "Let's see how much you eat of this broth before we get to the tarts," earning another offended look from his brother. He just chuckled.

D'Artagnan had been silent during this exchange between his brothers, but Athos had noticed the utter relief on the young Gascon's face while he was watching the three of them talking. He thought to himself that as fierce a fighter as d'Artagnan had proven himself to be, and with all the good instincts and investigative skills, he was still younger and much less experienced than they were. Seeing someone he liked, admired, lived and fought with put through what Aramis had been through probably had shaken him to the core. He resolved to take him aside and talk with him later. It would be better on him if he didn't keep this bottled up inside.

Aramis surprised them and finished all of the broth, after initially giving them all a worried jolt. He had begun choking after the first bite, and they had hurriedly shifted his upper body over the side of the bed in case it came up. But it proved to be only one episode, and after waiting a few minutes, he did much better for the rest of the meal.

He enjoyed one piece of the delicious cornbread, while Porthos, happy with the unexpected treat, ate three!

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan checked on the wounds from the explosion, and found them healing very nicely. Things were finally looking up for all of them.

Aramis stayed awake for a few minutes after that, before succumbing to his body's demand for more rest.

As his eyes closed once more in slumber, his brothers finally were able to stop and be thankful that the brother who had come so close to not making it was going to recover. They could finally relax themselves.

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 _ **I hope you all don't mind if I ask a question that has been on my mind. I have noticed that the reviews for the story have gone down the past several weeks,and I wondered if it is because the story is not going in an acceptable manner; maybe it is not interesting any more, or something else. I really appreciate your feedback. If you would be interested in sharing, I also always accept and answer pm's. Thanks for your interest, and thanks so very much for reading my story. Writing is a lifelong dream for me, that, with fanfiction, has come true, and it's truly a joy to be able to do!**_


	13. Chapter 13

**_I would like to reply to a comment about how I write characters. I didn't know, believe it or not, that there are specific ways to let my readers know that a character might be written differently than their character from the show at times. I think the term is OCC, and I will be happy to give warnings next time._**

 ** _With Athos, there were a number of times on the show that spoke to me of the powerful emotions he held inside of him, which I wanted to give him in my ff. Of course, there is the whole Milady story. He had strong feelings for her, both for love, and later for hate. Commodities was rife with pent-up feelings, as was The Return. In Trial and Punishment, we see a little of the passion in him. His feelings for his brother, Thomas, were also strong, as shown in how he reacted to his death and the near-hanging of Milady. I believe he has those same strong feelings for his Musketeer brothers, and I love bringing some of that out. But I understand that I should warn when I do something different than the show did._**

 ** _In Aramis' case, I believe when he, or most of the time the others as well, were injured, the writers were very wrong in having them with no signs of any of the damage in the very next scenes. It doesn't make sense. If they are hurt, that needs to be shown to make sense. There were several times, Through a Glass Darkly, Trial and Punishment and Prisoner of War to name a few, where he sustained injuries that were made light of to progress on and further the plot. I just tend to focus more on what could really happen when someone is injured, and also on the love the brothers, one for the other._**

 ** _I refer to Aramis as "their" brother, not as a pet, but as a very beloved friend, as they each see the others as family._**

 ** _I really appreciate everyone's reviews, your thoughts on my story. Feel free to share any time, and I will attempt to respond._**

 ** _Here comes Chapter 13!_**

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Several days later, Aramis was progressing quite well. The poison in his system was greatly diminished, and the wounds from the explosion were healing nicely. Of course, this have Aramis the mistaken idea that he was well enough now to try things that were still on Dr. Lemay's 'list' not-to-do's, such as getting out of bed.

After his latest attempt on his own, where he had nearly landed on his face on the floor, his brothers decided to have a little takl with him. They knew their brother very well. He hated feeling confined to bed. It was at this stage that he usually thought he was well enough to do things, and he could be very persuasive and persistent, when in reality he wasn't quite as far along as he thought he was, and could very well undo all his progress if he wasn't careful. The reason he had been healing so well was precisely because he had been doing what Lemay had ordered.

Seeing them all coming around the bed, Aramis knew they were not happy with his attempts at getting back to normal. "I feel...", he began, only for Porthos to interrupt him.

"Aramis, you have told us you were fine when you were passing out while riding, when you had a musket wound in your side, when you had been knocked on the head by a pistol barrel. We love you and we know you. We came way too close to losing you this time. You don't want to push things too far too fast."

"Dr. Lemay told us to keep a close eye on you, Aramis. He told us to follow his instructions until he releases you," Athos continued. "We do indeed know you. When you are taking care of us, you tell us to take it easy and let ourselves heal, that moving around too much at this stage could undo all of our progress. But you do not practice what you tell us to do when you are injured or ill, and right now, you are both."

"But...," Aramis began again, accompanied by a woebegone face that his brothers knew was designed for sympathy.

"No, Aramis," Porthos overrode him. "We are going to make sure you follow his insructions because we care and, like I said before, we love you."

Aramis' face slowly fell, realizing his pleas would go unrewarded, and he heaved a huge, dramatic sigh that caused his brothers to fight hard to suppress the grins it illicited from them.

Not agreeing with, but understanding Aramis' frustration, Athos said, "Dr. Lemay also told us that if you can follow his regimen for another week, he believes he might be able to give you permission for more movement."

These words gave Aramis a glimmer of hope for the end of his confinement. His brothers knew him, thougn, and Athos continued. "Just remember, his approval will only be given if you take it easy now."

But Aramis' hope wouldn't be extinguished, and he remained buoyant and smiling the rest of the day.

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Constance had given Anne the good news that Aramis was going to recover. She had been so worried for him, but had not been able to go to him. It would have been far too dangerour for them both to invite any suspicion. But now, she could rejoice that he was going to live!

She also had been forced to hide her emotions around the palace, too. Any changes of her demeanor would have sent signals to the palace staff and the many members of the aristocracy who lived there, who watched everything she did, hoping to curry favor. If she had begun looking sad or worried, they would have noticed immediately.

She was well aware of these things, and any changes of expression or deviation from a normal routine would start the rumors, which she tried so hard to avoid. Not for the first time, she wished she could have been born to a simple unknown family, and lived a life away from the glitter and pomp.

Women from royal families and from the nobility were only important in society to give birth to the all-important heir, and to be a gracious and smiling presence at Court functions, balls and other importants events. Their lives were to always be at the whim of their husbands. Their thoughts and feelings were almost always taken as if they were of no importance.

She felt like dancing on air right now, but only in the privacy of her own apartments, and only because her ladies in waiting were not in her presence. She still had to be very careful. Looking too joyful would also illicit questioning looks and suspicion.

Unknowingly echoing a sigh as her lover had done earlier in the day, she wished for the umpteenth time that that she was free to marry and live with the man she loved, even in a simple cottage far away in the country where they could be happy.

If wishes were horses, beggars might ride, she sadly thought.

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The next week went by quietly. Aramis was on his best behavior, although they could see that he was pining for the promised 'release' to be set free.

At the end of the week, Dr. Lemay arrived and made his examination. To Aramis' absolute delight, the good doctor did release him to begin his next stage: sitting up, followed by standing and walking. He told him there was now no sign of the poison left in his body, just the aftereffects of the simultaneous trauma of poison and injury, plus the toll that all of the other injuries his body had sustained the past few weeks from what had once been thought to be accidents. He saw no reason to think that Aramis wouldn't recover completely. Everyone was overjoyed with his prognosis.

Telling them he would be back in about a week or so for another checkup, he departed.

Aramis insisted on sitting up as soon as Lemay left, and this time, no one gave him any reason not to do couldn't prevent a wince as he lifted himself with a helpful hand from Porthos at his back. He was practically grinning from ear to ear once he was up with some pillows at his back.

Next day, he insisted on sitting up on the edge of the bed, then slowly getting to his feet. As like his endeavor the previous day, he again winced as he moved, but insisted that it was only because he hadn't moved for so long.

His recovery continued throughout the week, and finally, he made it down to the table he and his brothers always ate their meals around. They all enjoyed a meal in the spring sunlight, jubilant at one progress after another.

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Treville didn't release Aramis back to full active duty yet, though. He was allowed to work in the weapons room few hours each day, cleaning and repairing the pistols and muskets, which made him feel like he was again contributing to the garrison.

No one had seen or heard anything from Bernard in all this time.

But one day, that changed.

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Treville was unexpectedly interrupted from his work very early in the morning one day day by the guard at the gates bellowing for the Captain. Frowning, he strode out his office door and down the steps, calling out, "Andre, what's wrong?"

The guard met him halfway across the compound, hurrrying from his post at the gates. "Captain, something very odd, sir," he said, starting back towards the gates.

Treville followed, wondering what was up. He soon found out when he reached the garrison entrance. There on the ground directly in-between the gates was...a chicken?

Then, looking further, he saw a musket laying underneath the chicken-a chicken with its head blown off.

Treville was, to say the least, shocked. It was a rather shocking, yet creepy thing to be left on their doorstep, so to speak.

Who in the world...?

Bending over to examine the gruesome mess, he swore. The stock of the musket had the Musketeers insignia carved into it! What in the world was this supposed to mean?

Slowly standing back up, he bellowed for David, one of his veterans, and Francois, one of his best cadets. He assigned them to work on finding out where the chicken and musket had come from. Someone had a very strange sense of humor, if that was what it was supposed ot have been staged for.

This was not a good beginning to his day, he grumbled to himself as he walked back to his office.

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Two days later, in the twilight of the evening, he got called again. Leaving his office, he saw the guard, a different one, beckoning to him from the gates. With a sinking feeling, he headed once more to the entrance, wondering if it was another strange offering.

Whatever he could have imagined, this wasn't it. On the ground was a dead dog. On looking more closely, he saw a feather under its collar.

"What in the world...?" he thought.

Then, he looked more closely at the feather. "Athos!" he shouted.

His lieutenant came out of his room, running towards Treville. Reaching him, Treville silently pointed to the dog's collar.

At first, Athos couldn't figure out what his Captain was trying to tell him. Then, he started, and looked sharply at Treville, saying, "It is an identical match for the feather in Aramis' hat. What..."

Treville interrupted him, telling him about what had previously been found at the gates.

"I don't know what is going on, but I don't like it. I don't like it at all. We will get to the bottom of this."

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Three days passed. Then, in the middle of the night, Trevill was awakened by a guard at the gate shouting his name again.

With a sense of foreboding, he left his room, and noticed that Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan came out of theirs, as well. Athos shared, thought Treville.

The all strode quickly to the gates, where the guard was again pointing to the ground.

There on the ground was a dead cat, wrapped in a scarf.

Almost as one, they all gasped. The scarf was almost an exact match in color and texture to the one Aramis wore around his waist!

"Bernard!" Athos said, in a voice that sounded retribution for the renegade attempted assassin.


	14. Chapter 14

Aramis was at last well enough to be put on limited guard duty at the palace in two days time, provided he did so accompanied by all three of his brothers. He was jubilant at once again being allowed to perform his Musketeer duties.

His brothers hadn't told him of the "deliveries" that had been made recently, not wanting to disturb his recuperation period. But they had vowed to each other that Bernard would get to him 'over their dead bodies', and stuck to him like glue everywhere he went to his amused frustration.

Over breakfast that morning, Porthos said to him, "You know we're supposed to be on guard duty together, don't you? No wandering off in pursuit of the ladies yet," he teased.

Aramis no longer had the interests he had once had, not since he and Anne had been together. But he also knew he needed to keep that fact from his other brothers. He already had one brother who could throw daggers at him over the matter without touching his weapons. He just gave Porthos a teasing look and didn't respond.

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The day before Aramis' first assignment back on duty, all four friends spent the morning together sparring with each other: swords, followed by target shooting and then hand-to-hand.

To absolutely no one's surprise, Aramis hit the bull's-eye four out of four times. Athos gave him a gentle fencing session, still wanting to take it easy on him. He and d'Artagnan engaged in a mild sort-of playful wrestling match.

Then Aramis turned to Porthos, saying, "Your turn Porthos. Come on!"

Porthos , leery of hurting his friend while he was recovering, visibly hesitated, finally saying, "I think we've been at it enough for today. Think we should see what Serge has ready for us?" looking to each of his brothers, and hoping Athos and d'Artagnan would back up his suggestion. Porthos was fully aware of his own capabilities, and of how playfully restless his brother could be while trying to convince his brothers that he was getting back to full strength.

Athos and d'Artagnan were indeed aware of Porthos' ploy, and played along. But as they did, Aramis' brows came together in both upset and frustration.

"All of you are coddling me! You're going easy on me and letting me win! I'm fine. Don't treat me as a child!"

Athos thought to himself, 'he's far too intelligent for us to have tried to fool him, and as a result, he feels insulted. I cannot say that I blame him, as I would feel the same'.

He tried smoothing things over, saying, "Aramis, you are doing fine. We can see that. None of us came close to beating you in the shooting, and you would have held your own with the swords even if I had not hung back a little. I have fenced with you many times, my friend, and you are quite good, you know." Aramis did smile at that, and everyone relaxed again. "We will have another session soon, and will have to be on our toes against you then.

Now, would you like to work your charms on Serge, and see if he will part with some of the peach tarts for us that I saw half-hidden in the back of the kitchen?"

Aramis' mind had changed direction now, as he was thinking of how much they cared for him that they would have worked so hard to take it easy on him. He didn't for one moment think they hadn't, but he wouldn't say anything further on the subject. He gave in readily, to his brothers' relief.

As he sauntered off in the direction of the kitchen, Porthos let out a big sigh of relief, saying, "I can't say as I blame him much. I'd probably be upset myself if I felt any of you were going too easy on me. Let's go sit down. With Aramis doing the asking, we may get a whole plate of those mouth-watering tarts!", rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

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The next day, the set out for the palace, deciding to walk rather than ride. Aramis was just so happy to be back on duty, and the feeling spread to all of them. They talked and laughed their way to their destination, stopping along the way at the apple vendor's, where the elderly man who owned the cart greeted Aramis warmly.

"It is good to see you well again, Monsieur Aramis," he said, handing him a large, shiny red apple.

Aramis started to reach into his pocket for a coin, but the man stopped him, saying, "Not today, with all we've heard that you've been through. My treat!"

After thanking him, they finished their walk to the palace, with Aramis crunching through his apple with gusto.

Aramis' brothers surrepticiously kept a watchful eye out for Bernard, but things stayed peaceful and quiet, for which they were thankful.

None of them had any idea where the former stablehand was, but the palace was the last hiding place they would have guessed him to be.

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They had an uneventful day, the King having retreated to his rooms with a slight stomach upset, and nothing else going on.

The Queen, having not been informed that Aramis was back on duty, was quite pleasantly surprised at the sight she beheld when she moved to the windows to obtain better light in which to read.

Aramis and his brothers were almost directly below her windows! Later, Anne would be thankful that none of her ladies-in-waiting or any of the maids were with her at the moment, as she had been totally unable to keep a big smile from lighting up her face at the sight of her lover on the grounds and looking so well again. She had to stop herself from calling out to him, not knowing who might be within hearing distance. 'Thank God,' she thought, 'he is finally well again'.

Someone else saw the Musketeers, as well,but his thoughts were anything but thankful.

Bernard, spying Aramis from Philippe's upper story room, was livid when he saw the man he had tried so many times to kill, enjoying guard duty almost beneath his nose.

'Laugh while you may, Musketeer,' he sneered. 'It will be your last time'.

He had barely finished the thought before he was heading for a back room of Philippe's suite, where the nobleman allowed him to keep his things. Strapping on a pistol and grabbing one extra one, he stalked out of the room and the palace, still remembering caution and using one of the servant's entrances. There would have been a big to-do made seeing someone of his station coming from the rooms of the nobility, using the main door.

He paused outside, deciding on where to lay in wait for his victim. Stopping a servant that he had befriended in his time at the palace, and asking him if he knew how long the Musketeers would be on duty that day, he received the news that they had only one hour left. Then, the servant volunteered further information that he didn't understand why they had walked instead of coming on horses that day as usual, puzzled why anyone would walk when they had horses for their use. 'Lazy man,' Bernard thought to himself. 'Master probably has to keep on him to get anything done,' but grateful for the further information.

Heading in the direction of the garrison, he finally chose an advantageous position on a second-story rooftop about halfway there. 'None of their fellow Musketeers at the garrison or anyone from the palace would be within earshot here,' he smirked to himself.

Settling himself in, he began to wait in anticipation.

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Aramis continued the lightheartedness along the way home, even though by now, he was beginning to feel close to exhausted, as he hadn't been this active for weeks. To himself, he thought, 'I wonder if Anne was in her rooms,' knowing full well which rooms his beloved occupied in the palace. I wish I might have seen her today,' he continued, but knowing how dangerous that always was for them.

Partway there, he began to feel a prickle of unease at the back of his neck, as if someone was watching them. Looking around, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary to trigger that sense of danger. Then, the same sensation happened a second time.

Thinking he should warn his brothers, he started to turn, when Porthos suddenly grabbed him and in the same motion, pushed him to the ground, shouting, "Ambush!"

The big man had no sooner given his warning, when he uttered a groan of pain, and collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

Aramis, on his knees after Porthos' actions, dropped fully to the ground, and in one fluid motion, rolled his body and fired upward, a scream echoing in the street as a body plummeted to the ground from his deadly accuracy.

Athos and d'Artagnan, pistols drawn, ran to check the body.

Aramis, ignoring the now still body lying in the dirt of the street, bent over his friend. "Why, Porthos?" he softly said. "Why did you take that bullet?" he cried out in anguish.


	15. Chapter 15

_Just a short chapter today. We're getting close to the conclusion of this story now. Today, hurt/comfort,and a little angst, as well. As Always, thanks so much for reading my story!_

Aramis was beside himself, tears trickling down his face as he knelt in the dust of the street. It was his fault! If Bernard was after him for some unknown reason, he should have tried harder to keep his distance from his brothers to protect them. Now, his greatest fear had come to life. Porthos! His brother had shoved him out of the way,making himself a target instead.

His hands clenched in his brother's shirtfront, Aramis was oblivious to anything going on around him as a crowd gathered. His thoughts were only of his brother, and of his own sense of guilt.

He wasn't thinking clearly, Athos thought, as soon as he and d'Artagnan turned back to return to their brothers. Aramis was always cool and calm in an emergency, especially if one of them were injured. His 'medic mode' took over immediately. That it obviously hadn't told him much about the state of Aramis' mind at the moment.

Approaching him quietly, Athos laid a hand gently on Aramis' shoulder. "Aramis, he needs medical attention," was all he said, but it seemed to get through to his brother, who after a moment shook his head, wiping away tears with the forearm of his jacket, as he finally began hurriedly to find where Porthos had taken the bullet.

When he found it, his body seemed to sag in relief. Porthos had been hit in the shoulder. The blood still pouring from the wound had covered the exact location, and it looked far worse than it was. Still, they needed to stop the bleeding before he lost much more blood, or they would have another problem on their hands. He pressed the flat of his right hand against Porthos' wound to try to stop the bleeding.

Turning to Athos and looking up, he said softly, "He'll live. It's his shoulder. But we need to stop the bleeding quickly."

Athos nodded his head, then turned to d'Artagnan and said, "Go back to the garrison and tell Treville. Bring back two wagons." D'Artagnan was already moving before Athos even finished, heading down the street at a rapid pace towards the garrison.

Pulling his shirt free of his pants' waistband, Athos tore two strips from the bottom and handed them to Aramis. Then, crouching down beside him, he took over applying pressure on the wound so that Aramis could wipe away more of the blood and start winding the makeshift bandage around it tightly.

He was nearly finished when they both noticed Porthos beginning to stir. Laying a hand on his shoulder, Aramis leaned down towards his brother's ear and said quietly, "Lay still. You've been shot, and we are taking care of you."

Porthos' voice, still groggy from having been unconscious, said, "I'm fi..."

Aramis' eyebrows went up when he heard that. He replied, "You most definitely are not fine, my friend. You've been bleeding like a stuck pig all over the street. Now lie still."

Unbelievably, a chuckle emanated from Porthos. "You are telling me I'm not fine? Isn't that what you always tell us when you've been hurt? And didn't it take the three of us to hold you down to stay in bed last time, when you thought you could just get to your feet and carry on as normal?"

Athos' lips were beginning to twitch now. Looking over at Aramis, he said, "He has you there, brother."

For once not having an suitable answer, Aramis resorted to becoming very busy with finishing the wrapping, his very quietness telling them what he felt. Athos and Porthos just looked at each other, grinning.

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A servant had already reached the palace relaying the message that a Musketeer had been attacked and wounded in the street not far from the grounds. Philippe felt a sense of deep satisfaction, as he thought, 'may the deed be true this time at last'.

But a little while later, his hopes were dashed when a second servant's message told the palace that the Musketeer was wounded, but not dead. The message even included the name of the Musketeer.

Porthos! he thought incredulously. The man couldn't even hit the right target?

He himself didn't care if Aramis or Athos was taken out. Either would give him immense satisfaction. But he knew Bernard had a deadly vendetta against Aramis for a reason only known to the man himself.

It was when he heard that a man named Bernard had been killed in return after the ambush that Philippe exploded in the privacy of his rooms.

'That complete fool!' he raged to himself. 'He couldn't even get the target right, then gets himself killed into the bargain. A very poor partnership indeed.' Then, he thought to himself, as the saying goes, if you need something done, you have to do it yourself'.

Settling himself into his gold and blue brocade chair, he began to ponder just how he would put an end to the whole affair once and for all.

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Porthos put up quite a fuss when the two wagons arrived. He knew as soon as he saw them that one of them was for him, and he had no intention of playing the invalid by riding back to the garrison in it.

"I'm perfectly capable of walking myself," he said to his brothers.

Aramis calmly and quietly replied, "Like you were capable of keeping out of the line of fire, mon ami? Or of keeping all that blood under you from seeping out, and risking bleeding to death?" ignoring the glare he was receiving by now from his irate brother.

Athos just put an end to Porthos' arguments by saying, "Porthos, you are riding in that wagon if we have to knock you out and lay you there."

Porthos finally capitulated, but not with any grace or humor. Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan, who had come back with the wagons, lifted him with absolutely no cooperation from the patient, carried him to the wagon and laid him down. All they heard was an indignant huff from their now silent brother, and they grinned at each other, knowing they would all have behaved very much the same way if the situation was reversed.

After depositing Bernard's body in the other wagon (Athos figured earlier that it would be difficult enough to convince Porthos to ride in the wagon without his having to ride in it with a dead body), they took off, reaching the garrison a short while later.

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Aramis continued to tease Porthos after they got him settled in the infirmary, and while he exchanged the makeshift bandages for real ones. First, he had rechecked the wound, finding that the bullet had gone straight through, for which he was very thankful. Then, he spread some healing salves on it while Porthos complained about the awful smell of them. Pothos tried to tell him he didn't need the pain meds, too, but again, Aramis wasn't haivng any of his brother's foot-dragging.

Within minutes of also being given a med for sleeping from his insistent mother hen brother, the big man was sound asleep.

It was then that Aramis sagged into the nearest chair, not because he wanted to but from his body's persistence in reminding him that he needed to do so. He had been on his feet far longer today than at any time since his injuries had occurred, and his body was demanding some rest now.

He tried to ignore it and get back up, only to find a familiar hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"Aramis," Athos quietly chided him, what would you say to one of us if we ignored the fact that we were so weary, we could barely stand up?" quirking that eyebrow of his up, like only Athos could do so expressively.

With a dramatic sigh, Aramis just looked up at him, got wearily to his feet, and settled down on the bed nearest to Porthos.

Athos just gazed at his two brothers for a few moments with a relieved smile, then took the seat Aramis had just vacated.

When d'Artagnan returned from seeing Constance and came through the door a short time later, he saw that Athos, in his turn, had tilted his head back and had joined his brothers in sleep.

 _We are getting close to the end now. Next up: Bernard's motive, and Philippe's vengeance._


	16. Chapter 16

As he headed towards the infirmary, Treville just shook his head. The mystery of Bernard's motive was finally solved. Now, he had to tell his Musketeers just why the man had taken vengeance on Aramis.

But as he opened the door, he smiled at the sight of his men. They were all sound asleep, as peaceful as he had ever seen them. The fact that not one of them had stirred when the door was opened was a testimony to just how exhausted from recent events they all must have been, as he knew his men. Normally, four pistols would have been leveled at the door. Instead, he saw two of them prone on beds. Athos was tilted back in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles in front of him. Their youngest was sitting on the edge of Aramis' bed, head drooping over his brother's hand, which he held securely between his own.

Sitting down himself, he settled in to wait for them to wake up.

It wasn't until an hour later that Athos began to wake up, languidly stretching his arms up and back over his head, finally spying his Captain sitting quietly in the corner.

"Captain, you should have awakened us. I am sure you have better things to do than to watch us sleep."

"You obviously needed it, Athos," Treville replied. "I should have been informed that all of you were dead on your feet. See that you do not keep me in the dark next time?"

Athos inclined his head at the very mild rebuke, knowing full well how much the man cared about them.

By now, all three of his brothers were also awake.

"I came to tell you all what I have just learned," Treville said. "We now know why Bernard tried so hard to kill you, Aramis.

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He got all of his men's full and complete attention at those words.

"Why, Captain?" Aramis asked in a quiet voice.

"Let me ask you, Aramis. Do you remember a young woman named Lysette-blonde, green-eyed? She had come to Paris from the region of the Dordogne?"

Aramis' eyes went very wide at the name. Athos and Porthos' faces registered recognition, as well. Both Treville and d'Artagnan, who had been silently observing so far, could see their eyes grow very curious now.

"Who is Lysette?" he asked.

Athos replied quietly. "She was someone from Aramis' past. He saved her from Antoine, a brute of a man who had repeatedly raped and beaten her, after her father had sold her to the man in marriage. Aramis came upon her one night while Antoine was yet again brutalizing her in back of a tavern in a village not far from Paris, while returning from a solo mission. After calling out to the man to stop, he ended up having to shoot him when he continued his assault." Turning back to Treville, he asked him, "What has Lysette got to do with Bernard?"

Treville said he would soon get to that, and continued. "Aramis brought the young woman back to her house afterwards. Her sister-in-law was there, and took her in her arms to comfort her. Aramis was already delayed getting back with the letter for the King that he had been sent to deliver, so, after telling the owner of the bar to contact the proper authorities about the body in back of the tavern, he had to leave for Paris. We thought that was the end of the story, but unfortunately, events transpired to set in motion the tragic attacks that have been happening."

Pausing, he looked at Aramis as he said, "Unfortunately, the sister-in-law loved her brother very much, despite his treatment of his wife. Evidently, her brother treated her with the love and kindness that he never gave to his wife. When her other brother came to visit from the family's home in southern France a week later, not wanting Antoine's memory to be "stained"and knowing that this brother hadn't been around since before Antoine's marriage , she told him that Aramis, despite what he might hear from anyone else, was the one who had tormented her sister-in-law. She said that when her brother had tried to intervene, Aramis had cold-bloodedly shot him. She told him she had found Antoine and taken him to her own house to nurse him, but that he had died in agony a day later. Lysette had gone out to get some food supplies when her brother-in-law had come, so heard nothing of this account of the affair.

There was complete silence in the room when Treville paused. Then, Athos spoke. "Bernard was the dead man's brother, I assume."

Nodding, Treville continued. "It seems, from the little information we have been able to obtain, that Bernard's family have had a long trail of violence, including assaults, murder, theft and even a brief period of banditry.

Someone in the village who had befriended Lysette's sister-in-law, told my men the woman was no stranger to violence herself. She once bragged to her about killing her dog in a rage at a mess he had made. No one, however, had ever seen Antoine raise a finger to his wife, as he must have been afraid of damaging his reputation in the village."

"Bad blood," Porthos murmured. Treville replied, "Indeed."

"At least, Bernard is now dead, so the trouble is over," Trevilled said. "You four get some more rest today. That's an order. Tomorrow, you are back on duty."

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Philippe had his plan all in order. He just needed his victim-or victims-he didn't care if he killed one or all of the Musketeers. He would finally have satisfaction, and no one would even suspect him. They all thought that with Bernard dead, it was all over. They would find out very soon how wrong they were. Then, he could go back to waiting for his father to 'turn up h is toes' so that he, Philippe, could finally receive the title, estates and wealth that were his due.

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The next day at muster, Treville assigned them to palace duty, then added, "but also with a brief investigation of a garden house at the edge of the palace grounds. Louis is very upset that things have been disappearing from it at a high rate: seeds, equipment, even trellises are being taken. He finally called us in when Anne's prize golden rose seeds disappeared yesterday, even with a guard patrolling the area. I promised him we would put an end to the theft. Dismissed!"

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Later, heading for the palace, Porthos grumbled, "Seed patrol! We're coming down in the world! Why doesn't Louis have all his gardeners carry a pistol or knife? How dangerous can this thief be?"

"Now, now, Porthos," Aramis said good-naturedly. He was in high spirits to be feeling back to normal, and couldn't pass up the opportunity to tease his friend. "The king asked for our assistance. This garden thief might be highly dangerous if he is deprived of his seed bounty!"

This outrageous comment caused Porthos to chuckle, which turned into a belly laugh which spurred Athos and d'Artagnan to laughing, as well.

The mood lightened, they continued on, enjoying each other's company and a very light duty for the day.

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 _Sorry this chapter was so short-busy, busy week for me. We are almost at the end of our story. Just one, or possibly two chapters left. Thanks so much for reading!_


	17. Chapter 17

After patrolling the palace grounds, the Musketeers took a look at the garden shed. They found it quiet, with both gardeners working on the hedges surrounding the garden. There was nothing untowards to keep their attention or investigate, so they returned to the main palace grounds.

It was mid-afternoon when Athos told them he had been having a odd feeling about the garden area they had visited. This was highly unusual for him, so they took it very seriously.

"What kind of odd feeling, Athos?" Porthos wanted to know.

"I cannot explain it. It was just..." He stopped. Then, as if he had thought of something, he said, "The boxes!"

"What about the boxes?" Aramis asked.

"If there were two gardeners there, would they not have emptied the boxes before working on the hedges? They would not have known without looking if something was in them that needed taken out, such as plants," he said. "I know, it is probably nothing, but let us return and satisfy, if nothing else, my curiosity."

They all turned and headed back to the garden shed.

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When they got there, they noticed that neither gardener was present. Since there was still quite a long period of daylight left, it seemed odd to them that neither were working yet. But maybe the King had requested them to pick something up for him.

They headed into the shed to check out the boxes.

Porthos got sidetracked looking at the tools laid out against one wall. "What's this?" he asked, holding up something that looked like claws on a straight pole. He had never done any gardening, and patrolling the grounds when they came for duty at the palace had been the only gardens he had been in.

Aramis answered, telling him, "It's a spade, Porthos. The gardener digs holes with it to put seeds in the ground."

Porthos examined it more closely, clearly fascinated by how plants were grown. He had never had any idea of how it was done, and before now, not much interest, either.

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No one was around now, Philippe thought. He had made sure of that. He had told the gardeners that the King had given all of the outdoors staff the rest of the afternoon off, so that they would be rested when his visitors from England arrived tomorrow.

He was almost beside himself with glee that his plan was proceeding so well. No one would suspect a thing.

He watched from behind the trees as all four Musketeers headed into the shed. They thought they were so brilliant, he mused. Well, we will see who has the last laugh, he continued.

That commoner, Bernard, had been a stumbling block to him as a partner-and in the end, no help to him at all-well, almost none. What he had discovered among Bernard's surprisingly extensive supply of equipment and weapons should finally bring him the satisfaction he so badly craved. He was surprised that he had never thought of the solution before. If he had, he would never have had to enter into a partnership with someone so beneath him. Actually, he had never really needed any help at all, he arrogantly repeated to himself. This had been so easy to arrange, it was almost like child's play. His revenge would be complete in a few more minutes!

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Athos headed over to check out the boxes, as Aramis continued explaining to a still-curious Porthos what the different garden tools did. Athos bent down to see if there was anything written on the sealed boxes to identify them.

Meanwhile, d'Artagnan wandered around the back of the shed to look around. Philippe, seeing this said silently to himself, no, get back inside. I want you all dead! But the Gascon continued his walk around the shed, checking everything out.

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Treville muttered to himself, I wish Louis would make up his mind! First, he wants my men to 'investigate' a garden shed, like they have no more important work to do than catch a thief of hoes and seeds and such like. Now, all of a sudden, he has to have them back dancing attendance on him while he target shoots! He would never understand his sovereign's mind totally, he continued to himself. Most of the time he could read him, but then he would sometimes veer off in another direction. Treville would never breathe these words aloud to a living soul, being utterly and passionately loyal to the Crown, as he made sure all his Musketeers felt when he brought them each into the regiment.

Go get them, Louis had ordered, demanding their instant return! He fumed silently as he headed out to the gardens.

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D'Artagnan continued his wandering path around the shed. Some of the rows of vegetables he saw he recognized as things that had been grown on his family's farm back in Gascony, naming them silently as he went along. But some were totally foreign to him, and curiosity was aroused in him as he bent to look at a few of them more closely. I wonder if Anne's servants brought them when she came to France from Spain, he thought, or maybe ambassadors of noblemen currying favor had gifted the King with them.

It was while he was standing back up after looking at one of them that he saw a movement in the trees. Not letting on that he had seen anything, he peered out from beneath the wide brim of the hat Aramis had playfully plunked down on his head as they had left the garrison that morning, and had a good time teasing him about all day.

His eyes narrowed in recognition. It was that arrogant young nobleman, Philippe, the one who had been so angry and verbally attacked both Aramis and Athos weeks ago on the palace grounds. What was he doing here? And more to the point, why was he in hiding, as it was obvious to d'Artagnan that the young man did not want to be seen.

Continuing to covertly observe Philippe, d'Artagnan saw that the man's entire focus was on the garden shed. Why would that interest this nobleman who was dressed in the peak of the current fashion? It would be highly unlikely that vegetables and flowers would hold any interest from him, and he wouldn't be wanting to get his very expensive clothes dirty or torn either.

Then, d'Artagnan stiffened as he realized what the only thing Philippe was interested in was-his brothers! His brothers were in the shed!

He had no idea what Philippe was up to, but a growing sense of unease filled him now. This young fop could mean nothing good to his brothers, not after he had spoken so nastily to them.

Beginning to run around to the front now, the shed having only the one entrance, d'Artagnan's heart sped up. Please, whatever he has planned, let me get there in time, he silently begged the God he rarely thought about or spoke to.

Reaching the door, he started to reach out to open it, when it flew open at the same time as his brothers came running through it, nearly knocking him over.

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Aramis was very much enjoying explaining all the gardening implements and bags of seeds to Porthos, when he began to get a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He knew from experience that these usually meant danger was close by. It had saved his life and the lives of his brothers often, so he had learned never to ignore them.

Still talking to Porthos, at the same time he began cautiously looking around to see if anything would give him an inkling as to why he was getting these feelings.

But as soon as he saw Athos bending over a box in the corner, his eyes spied a word written on the box-peligroso.

His eyes widened at the word, which was Spanish for dangerous! Not even taking the time to consider why a box out here would be labeled as it was, he sprang into action. Moving rapidly across the shed with one hand now clamped around a bewildered Porthos' elbow to tug him along, he reached Athos and grabbed his arm as well, his voice urgent as he said, "Out-now!"

Thankful that his brothers trusted his instincts as he did theirs, he headed for the door with both of them right behind him. He opened the door and urged them out ahead of him.

They had barely made it out the door when the force of something exploding from within hit them, sending them hurtling outwards helplessly, their bodies coming to rest and lying unmoving in the formerly peaceful beds of flowers as they landed. A few moments later, a second explosion blew apart what had been left of the shed they had emerged from, debris flying everywhere.

 _ **xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

 _ **Thanks so much for reading! And no, I don't write death fics! I'm not sure now whether I will have one or maybe two chapters left of this fic.**_


	18. Chapter 18

A groan came, then his body stiffened as he tried to lift himself up. A sharp pain made him grasp his shoulder and hold it.

Porthos was confused at first. Where was he? What had he done to his...and his eyes opened wide as it hit him. Ahead of him, the remains of the garden shed lay strewn everywhere, and wisps of smoke from the explosion lingered on in patches of the debris.

"Aramis! Athos! D'Artagnan!"

Beginning to look around frantically, his eyes finally rested on d'Artagnan, who was a few yards in back of him. His head was still throbbing, so he knew better than to try getting to his feet yet. The dizziness would overwhelm him.

Instead, he made his way crawling slowly to d'Artagnan, calling his name and watching for any movement.

He was rewarded when he had covered about half the distance separating them. He could see when d'Artagnan's head started to move slowly, as their youngest's senses began to come back to him. Then, just as Porthos had done, he began urgently calling his brothers' names.

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos called in a louder voice. When his eyes rested on Porthos, d'Artagnan's face broke into a look of relief.

"Porthos! How are Athos and Aramis?"

Porthos shook his head sadly. "You're the only one I've seen so far," causing the relief in d'Artagnan to ratchet up to worry and panic at the possibility that his other brothers could be injured or ... No, he refused to let that thought take hold.

"How are you feeling?" Porthos asked him.

"Like someone is hammering in my head," d'Artagnan replied, his hand now trying to massage his forehead.

Porthos reached over and gently began exploring the top of d'Artagnan's head with the tips of his fingers. It only took a moment before his suspicions were confirmed. There was a large bump on the left side that was the cause of the pain.

D'Argagnan could see that Porthos was in pain. The location gave him a clue as to what the injury was. Sitting up in spite of the pounding headache, he reached over and touched Porthos' shoulder. The big man reacted immediately, as pain flared up.

D'Artagnan said, "I'm going to reset your shoulder, Porthos. Hold still."

He quickly pushed the bone back in place, causing Porthos to yelp with the pain. A minute later, though, he sighed in relief, giving his brother a smile of thanks.

D'Artagnan's head had increased its drumming, however, causing him to lay back down in a hurry afterwards, sqeezing his eyes tight shut from the pain.

"You just stay right where you are, all right?" Porthos told him softly. "That egg you got on your head will just get worse the more you move."

"But..."

" No buts. Stay put, d'Artagnan. You get up again, you're liable to pass out. It's going to take a while for the hammering to calm down, especially since you just further traumatized it. I'm very happy to have a shoulder to use again, though," smiling as he said it. "I will look for Aramis and Athos. They've got to be somewhere around here."

Porthos slowly rose to his feet, and headed off in his search again.

It was in the vegetable garden that he found Athos, lying crumpled and face down. Hurrying to his brother's side, he laid a hand on Athos' shoulder. "Athos!" he called, not getting any response.

Frowning, he tried again, this time hearing a groan emitted from his brother, who finally lifted his head slightly off the ground at hearing Porthos's voice. He tried to move again, but stopped with a gasp.

"Athos, where are you hurt?" Porthos asked, not liking the sounds coming from him.

"Ribs," was all his brother said.

Then, a moment later, he asked, "Aramis? D'Artagnan?"

Porthos said, "D'Artagnan is off to the right of us aways. He got knocked in the head, so I told him to stay where he was, and keep still. Aramis...," he stopped, emotions upset at his still missing best friend. He was trying not to imagine the worst, but it kept creeping into his mind anyway. He had been through most of the garden already, looking for his brothers. Athos was at the edge of area. Where could Aramis be?

"He will be all right, Porthos," Athos said, trying to get his hands underneath himself to lift into a sitting position. He needed to help Porthos. His ribs had other ideas, though, and a tearing pain ripped through him, causing him to stop his attempt. "You should go look for him. I will be all right here."

Porthos was torn. He didn't want to leave Athos, any more than he had wanted to leave d'Artagnan. But one of them was still missing, possibly badly hurt. He couldn't leave him out here alone.

He nodded to Athos, and once more began searching. His heart was getting heavier each moment that he failed to find him. Where could he be? And then, he saw someone moving rapidly in the near distance.

Treville! Calling out to him, Treville didn't reply, his attention fixed elsewhere.

Porthos looked in the direction holding his Captain's attention, and froze. Aramis!

His brother was moving hesitantly in his direction, wavering from time to time, and once staggering sideways like he had been drinking. He didn't seem to see anyone, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance.

Porthos was running now, fear gnawing at his insides. Aramis didn't look well at all.

He and Treville got there almost at the same time, gently trying to ease Aramis down on the ground. They were rapidly scanning Aramis' body, looking for injuries. But they didn't see anything major, other than quite a few cuts and and some nasty dark bruises on his face. What was wrong with him?

But when his back reached the ground, he arched up screaming. Porthos and Treville looked at each other in worry. What was wrong?

They turned him sideways and laid him down as gently as they could. Looking around at his back, they both gasped.

His doublet was bloody! Hurriedly, but as gently as possible, they removed the doublet. The amount of blood soaking the back of his white shirt had Porthos and Treville hurriedly searching in the midst of it for whatever was causing it. Gently wiping away the blood, they found a small hole. Someone had shot him in the back!

The bullet had to come out, and quickly. They didn't want to cause Aramis any more pain than he was already in, but because of all the debris from the explosion plus dirt and grass from the garden itself, the risk of infection was too great to leave it until they could get him indoors and seen by a doctor.

Treville heaved a great sigh, knowing he had to be the one to remove it, and wishing he didn't have to do it. Aramis was already panting with the pain, eyes tight shut in agony. Blood continued to flow from the wound, blood Aramis couldn't continue to lose for very long.

Treville said, quietly, "That bullet has to come out of there now. The longer it stays in his body, the greater his risk of an infection that could kill him." Porthos' face reflected his fear of death for his dearest friend.

Treville was continuing. "We do not have the time nor the manpower to go and get hot water or alcohol to cleanse the wound. We will have to just pray that it does not get infected from our method of removing it."

Having pulled his main gauche from its sheath, Treville looked at Porthos with grim determination, saying, "Keep him still, Porthos."

Without waiting for a response from his Musketeer, he turned back to Aramis and slowly inserted his knife.

The instant the blade entered his body Aramis screamed, trying to twist away from the source of further pain. But Porthos held him still, sick at heart that his brother had to endure the procedure with nothing at all to mute the pain, which alcohol could also have provided if he could have had at least a few sips.

He could see that Treville's first attempt hadn't loosened the bullet, which could be embedded in something in Aramis' body, such as tissue or muscle.

He could feel Aramis' body trembling. He knew his friend couldn't tell what was going on, and might even think, in his delirious mind, that an enemy was torturing him. He weakly kept trying to pull away, but Porthos continued his grip on him to hold him in place. Porthos heard a small whimper, and it nearly drove him to tears.

The second attempt by Treville still netted no results. Porthos wanted to rage against their lack of luck so far, but managed to keep silent as his Captain prepared for a third try.

Then, Porthos felt another presence beside him, as a hand reached down to assist in holding Aramis. Looking over, d'Artagnan grimly stared back. Behind him, Athos sat with an arm around his injured ribs. Porthos just nodded. No matter their injuries, they would not be kept away from the brother they all loved.

Aramis was, by now, barely conscious at all, tremors running through his body from the trauma it had already undergone, as well as the one it was currently in.

Porthos and d'Artagnan both had their hands full keeping his limbs still, so Athos moved closer and was now holding his brother's hand, his fingers threading through the sweat-soaked dark curls to give him comfort.

Treville inserted the knife once more, moving it slowly to seek out the bullet. They could tell by the expression on his face when he was finally able to locate it and get the blade under it. They all almost held their breath when he began to maneuver it out, fearful that it would come partway and then slip back again, as bullets sometimes did.

But it finally emerged, slick with blood. Treville flung it away in disgust.

Porthos leaned down closer to Aramis, saying, "It's all over, mon ami." Then, he added, "I am personally going to take apart whoever did this," his voice a low growl.

They all assisted in clearning the wound clean of the blood and bits of debris clinging to the skin, then Treville removed his doublet and tore strips of his own shirt to wrap around his Musketeer's torso, before laying his hand gently on the top of Aramis' head and saying quietly, "Rest now, Aramis,and live for us."

Porthos and Treville wrapped their doublets around him to keep him warm, as he was shivering, whether from the weather or shock, they couldn't tell. Porthos settled down next to him, worry still evident in his face.

After they were finished, Porthos said, "Who could have done this? And in the back?"

D'Artagnan realized he needed to fill them in, and gestured for Treville and Athos to come aside, telling them what he had seen earlier. "He must have been in this with Bernard. I was coming to tell you something was up, when the explosion happened. Philippe must have seen Aramis after the explosion, and the coward shot him in the back," he finished angrily.

"The King needs to hear about this," Treville said.

Porthos, who had been able to hear them from where he sat with Aramis cradled in his lap, said, "Right after we take care of him."

"You know we cannot keep this from Louis," Treville countered. "Not only did it happen on his palace grounds, but a son of his nobility caused it. He will be irate if he is kept in the dark about this. And an angry Louis is liable to take his rage out on the men who hid what happened."

"We cannot just let him banish Philippe without any other punishment," Athos said.

"We will not," Treville promised. "Let me handle Louis. If I play things right, Louis will think it is his decision to take Philippe down. He will get away with nothing, I promise you."


	19. Chapter 19

They could now hear voices, many voices, heading towards the location.

Treville said, "I think people at the palace have heard the explosion and probably the gunshot, as well. They should begin arriving in a few moments. We will not speculate with them about who did what. Just describe the incident and injuries, if they ask. We need to ensure that Louis hears of Philippe from us and no one else, or our plan might not work."

He had no sooner finished speaking when people began rushing towards them, voices raised in shock and excitement over the scene before them.

Servants as well as aristocrats began throwing questions at them, the unexpected and shocking event causing some of the servants to forget their places and vie with dukes, comtes and marquises in their silks and satins to get their questions heard first, so eager were they to find out what happened.

What the Musketeers had not expected was that Louis himself would show up, but come he did in full court regalia, which looked bizarrely out of place in the rubble and devastation of the gardens.

They told him a simple version of what had happened, and he said that he would see to it that his Musketeers would have his own personal physician, Dr. Lemay, to care for them. Obviously, the King had not been informed of Lemay's previous visits to tend Aramis after the other attacks had happened. Trust Constance to make sure of that.

Louis also made sure a guard detail was set up to keep watch over the area, as he said with a shudder that he didn't want the shooter returning. Of course, the King's probable reason for protecting the area was in case he himself, or the Queen, happened to come to the garden.

Aramis didn't awaken during the whole time. Porthos was begining to worry, as his brother's temperature had not gone down. If anything, he felt warmer than before, which he knew wasn't a good sign. He thought to himself, it's probably nothing. Reaction is all', trying but not succeeding in convincing himself.

Treville could see the conditions of his men, something they themselves were either not fully aware of, or more likely, working hard at hiding from him.

Porthos, now that the adrenaline that had kept him going had run out, looked exhausted. They all did, for that matter. The big man also looked like he might have a massive headache, probably from having received a concussion than had d'Artagnan, just having pushed it off while he was trying to rescue his brothers. Sometimes, adrenaline helped in that way, too.

D'Artagnan was finally falling asleep, his forehead furrowed with the aftereffects of his concussion.

Athos was stubbornly resisting rest, sitting on the ground next to Aramis, arm still wrapped around his ribs. Each time he tried to shift position to ward off cramps, he would grimace with the pain it caused him. He probably thought he could forego being seen by Lemay once they were back at the garrison, Treville surmised, but he was going to insist upon it-for all of them, whether they protested or not. These men meant too much to him for him to do otherwise.

Aramis. The Captain's frown deepened. He didn't like the temperature that was developing. It was what they had been afraid of happening. With all the debris, it was bound to have affected his wound. He hadn't awakened or even moved since succumbing to unconsciousness during the removal of the bullet.

Even as the thought ran through Treville's head, Aramis became restless, tossing and turning. He began to shiver as if he was freezing, but the weather was mild for the time of the year. Then, he began to mutter, "Why was I...the only one?" he cried out in a broken voice. Then, he yelled, "Get away! You will not...feed...on m..my brothers!"

With that, things became clear, not only to Treville, but to his three brothers, all of whom were awake now.

"Aramis!" Athos softly spoke to him. "This is not Savoy, mon ami. There is no snow or cold. There are no dead Musketeers here, brother. But the Captain is here. Porthos, d'Artagnan and I are here. Can you open your eyes for us, Aramis?"

But there was no response. Aramis continued to shiver, and winced in pain when he jarred his body with his restless movements. He remained unconscious and unreachable, as his temperature move slightly higher.

The palace servants finally returned with a large wagon, and despite vehement protests from Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan that they were well enough to ride, Treville ordered them to desist their protests and to make themselves as comfortable as possible in the wagon-immediately. The knew better than to complain any more and silently and unhappily complied.

As soon as Aramis was made as comfortable as possible on several blankets, and several more had been tucked in on either side of him to cushion him from the jolting of the wagon, they took off at a sedate pace.

When they finally reached the garrison, Treville called loudly for several of his men, giving orders to have each of his injured Musketeers carried into the infirmary, staring pointedly at the three who were awake as if daring them to protest.

They found Dr. Lemay inside waiting for them. They all liked and respected the King's physician. He got to work immediately.

Every one of the Musketeers insisted on Aramis being seen first.

After examining his patient with four very attentive and anxious pairs of eyes at the bedside, he said, "Whoever cleaned the wound and took the bullet out did an excellent and thorough job of it," seeing them all turn and look at Treville.

In normal circumstances, that would have been enough to make his recovery chances excellent. But...," and he hesitated.

Athos quietly asked, "We are, unfortunately, well aware of the possibility of infection, Doctor," and we know that he may already have one. His skin is too warm to the touch, and he has been delirious."

Lemay nodded, confirming their suspicions. "He needs plenty of fluids given to him. I know I do not need to tell you that the wound needs to be kept as clean as possible. I will leave some medicine here for him, along with instructions for when and how much to give him, which will not be easy to do as he is unconscious and may remain that way for a while yet. Please send for me if his condition changes at all, either better or ..." He stopped, not wanting to add the end of what he had been about to say.

He then examined and treated Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, giving them instructions for plenty of rest and fluids. He gave some pain meds to Athos, as the ribs were giving him quite a lot of discomfort. He told them, "I know you want to be at Aramis' bedside as much as possible, but see that you get your rest or you may make yourselves worse, which would not help any of you or Aramis," he said, softening his words with a smile, as he knew how much they loved and cared for each other.

Rising, he took his leave,face still grim at the condition of the young man whose politeness, affability, and medical skills he had come to respect and admire very much.

Aramis' brothers looked at each other after he had gone, dismay at having their suspicions about Aramis' conditions confirmed. They settled in for the night, none of them taking to their beds per Lemay's orders. Al three of them felt their place was with their brother.

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Treville came back after checking the garrison's activities, wanting to make sure that his men had complied with Lemay's orders. He found that ARamis had still not awakened, and sighed. Why, he silently asked himself, did Aramis always seem to have the worst luck with injuries?

After checking his other three injured men and sitting with Aramis for a short time, he rose to take his leave, saying, "I have arranged a meeting with Louis this afternoon. I did not want to leave the issue too long, with Philippe still running free. I will fill you in when I return."

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Louis greeted Treville warmly as the Musketeer Captain was ushered into the royal presence.

"Majesty." Treville said.

"Something up, Treville?" Louis asked, not wasting a moment in idle talk, wondering about the urgency of the request for this meeting.

"I wanted you to hear it from me before word gets out, Majesty," Treville told him. Then, we will follow your orders." Treville knew how much Louis appreciated the flattery given him, if it was given by someone he respected. The Captain usually dispensed with the Court 'techniques' that the nobility used ot get what they wanted, but in this one instance, he was hoping it would assist him with what he wanted Louis to do. Desperate times called for desperate measure, he assured himself.

"Majesty," Treville began, "it is difficult for me to tell you this. You believe that all the men of your Court are men of honor, integrity and loyalty, as they should always be. But Majesty, there is one among them not to be trusted-a wolf in sheep's clothing, as it were. He would pull the wool over your eyes if you let him. But you are not a fool, Majesty, to let him get away with it."

By now, Louis was intensely curious, as well as angry that there was someone who worked against him, and if against him, then against France herself.

"Who is he?" an inndignant Louis demanded. "Who is the worm in our Court?"

Treville was hard-pressed to keep hidden his exaltation that his plan was working perfectly so far.

"Majesty, this man worked hand-in-glove with the man who beset your Musketeer Aramis, arranging over and over to kill him and make it look like an accident. Then, when we discovered who his partner was, this nobleman hid him in this very palace in his rooms," something Treville had suspected and had checked out, having seen for himself the evidence of Bernard's "weapons room" in Philippe's suite that morning.

Louis was livid by this time. He wanted the man hung, at the very least, although he thought to himself, he hoped to devise something more humiliating an prolonged. The King was not usually so bloodthirsty, but in this instance, he wanted as many people as possible to witness the man's downfall.

Treville continued, "We do need to be careful, Majesty. This man's father is, besides being a high-ranking noble, also an honorable gentleman, one who will be horrified by his son's actions. He may turn his back on the son who has disgraced him and and his ancient family name. Or he may feel that, as his father, he needs to defend him against these charges. We do not know for sure, although I would be willing to wager that he will defend justice."

"Treville, I want the name of this cretin. He is to lose his freedom this very day."

"I believe we have a much better way to end things with justice, Majesty," if you will but hear me out. And I wish you to take credit for the plan," these words causing Louis' eyes to open wide in both surprise and a little glee that his Captain should suggest it be his idea. "Tell me about your plan, Treville," Louis said.

"It would be far better to not have the execuation be a public hanging, Majesty. It would rebound onto his father and the family name, and his father and the other members of his family have done no wrong. His crimes could blacken the family name for generations, as well."

"What do you propose then?" Louis asked.

"The young man was unable to pass the requirements to become a Musketeer, a dream of his. He was not good enough with either a pistol or a sword. He publicly derided both Athos and Aramis on your palace grounds for telling him so. I propose that we tell him if he agrees to a duel with Athos, his murderous activities will not become public. I believe he is enough deluded by his abilities that he will eagerly take the duel on to prove he would have been good enough. His execution will come at the end of Athos' sword."

"Excellent idea, Treville," Louis exclaimed.

"And if I might suggest it, Majesty, I would like, as I said before, for the idea to look as if it came from you. There might be questions if the Captain of the Musketeers suggested one of him men fight a duel with someone who had been rejected by our regiment. But no one would dare question it coming from you."

Louis was so quiet for a moment that Treville began to fear that he would back out and reject being the instigator. Then, Louis began vigorously clapping his hands, saying, "They would not dare! Yes, I will do it, Treville. We will be a team. Together, we will bring down this villain!"


	20. Chapter 20

_**This is a somewhat short chapter today, for which I apologize. Sometimes, life creeps on us, and takes the time we had planned for other things.**_

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Anne was once again worried, and unable to do anything about it. Constance had relayed the information to her that Aramis had been injured and now lay unconscious, the victim of a bullet in the back from an assailant after an explosion had already injured him and his brothers. She had been so happy that the man responsible for attacking him over and over had been taken care of, and now this. Her poor Aramis!

She tried to keep her emotions from her face in front of the Court, and especially from her ladies-in-waiting, who loved nothing more than to gossip about her. That would only make the situation even worse than it was.

She couldn't go to him, not even at night. It was too big of a risk. But her heart was with the man she loved as he fought this new trauma. She fought back the tears as she knelt in her room, once her attendants had filed out the door for the night, and began to pray, asking the God she and Aramis loved to watch over and heal her lover.

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On his way back to the garrison, Treville began planning, happy that his meeting had gone exactly how he had hoped. He and Louis had decided to let Philippe think he was off the hook for a week or so, as he would be relaxed and unsuspecting when 'their' plan went down. Louis was like a child at times, and was revelling in being Treville's 'partner' in this. Treville's primary reason for waiting was to give his Musketeers time to recover. Athos could be at a disadvantage dueling with broken ribs, and Treville suspected that Philippe, figuring that they had to have been injured, would try anything dirty he could think of to win.

Aramis. Thinking of the injuries had brought his beleagured Musketeer to the forefront of his thoughts again. If he could just beat this infection, he stood a chance of recovering. At least, Philippe could cause no more harm. Louis had insisted that Treville assign rotating Musketeers to keep a discreet eye on him, concerned that such a dangerous man was living inside the palace that he himself lived in.

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Philippe was beside himself, gloating in his rooms. 'Everything' has gone according to my plans', he thought. And that cocky Musketeer! Not so cocky now with a blade in his back. He wondered to himself if the Musketeer had died yet, hoping so. I just wish I could have got the cold one, too. He carries himself for all the world like he is one of us with noble blood! How dare he? He isn't fit to clean the bottom of my boots! Aw well, no one suspects me of anything, so I suppose I could plan one more little incident for him, as well.

Leaning back in a comfortable chair in his private room, he continued on with his thoughts, secure in his mind that no one had a clue to his activities. He smirked as he lifted the crystal goblet of wine to his lips, enjoying the fire of the fine brandy as it slid smoothly down his throat.

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When Treville got back, he found that Aramis' fever had raged on through the day, and his brothers had had their hands full keeping him still with his nightmares, as well as working to get liquids into his system.

As soon as he had seen his other three Musketeers, looking exhausted and dead on their feet, he immediately insisted that they get some much-needed rest while he spelled them, over their vehement protests that they were fine. This almost brought a smile to Treville's face, as they used the same words Aramis always used when he was anything but fine. But he still insisted. Athos was trying to hide his exhaustion, while one arm was wrapped around his bandaged ribs. The other two were a little better off healthwise, but barely keeping their eyes open.

They finally headed for empty beds in the infirmary so they could stay close to their brother, but stopped after a few steps and turned, with Athos asking for all of them, "How did the meeting go with Louis?"

"Heal yourselves. In one week, Athos, you will be facing Philippe in a duel-to the death. Louis thinks he is the 'mastermind' with me on the idea." Here, their faces reflected complete surprise, and then the dawning grins broke out. "Louis only agreed on this instead of hanging Louis in public when I told him the duel would end with Philippe's death. That mollified him, and the fact that I told him hanging Philippe would do irreparable harm to the man's father, who was an honorable man, and to the family's title and fortunes for generations to come. He finally capitulated, and now even wants to be there in an unofficial way when Philippe gets his just desserts."

"Let us just hope Louis can keep this entirely to himself until the day comes," Athos said, and the others nodded in agreement. They all knew how fickle Louis was, and how he liked to brag, especially when it involved himself.

"I talked to Louis about that, and I think I got through to him pretty well. We will see." Looking pointedly to his three Musketeers now, he ordered, "Now, off to sleep for you three. I do not want to see you up again for at least four hours."

They turned again reluctantly to their beds, but once in them, were out like lights within minutes. Treville settled down in a chair next to Aramis' bed, and took his hand.

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A couple of hours later, Treville felt a slight movement in the hand holding his injured Musketeers, and smiled when he saw Aramis' eyes opening at last. His hand went to Aramis' forehead, which felt much cooler than the last time he had checked an hour earlier. Finally, he thought to himself.

"Aramis, you with us again?" Treville asked him. He had spoken in almost a whisper but it was still heard by all three of his supposedly still sleeping Musketeers, who were gathered around the bedside within moments of his having spoken, faces hopeful again.

"How do you feel?" Treville asked.

Aramis' eyes revealed the pain and exhaustion he felt as he looked up at them. He was silent for so long, they were beginning to think he wasn't fully conscious yet.

Then, he responded, "Like a bullet hit me in the back," stopping to clear his raspy throat.

Porthos quickly held a cup of water to his lips, which he drank until it was pulled away, when he made a small, frustrated sound.

Porthos smiled and said, "That's what you do to your patients, Aramis, as we've told you before. You always tell us if we drink too much when we haven't had any for a long while, it will all come back up-hmmm?" Getting no response and fully aware that Aramis never liked his own words fed back to him,Porthos just chuckled, which earned him a glare from his best friend. That only made him chuckle more.

"Are you able to talk now, Aramis?" the Captain said. "We have been quite concerned about you. You contracted a very serious infection from the wound making contact with the debris from the explosion, and the dirt from the garden did not help matters either."

"I think it might be gone, Captain. I don't have a headache, or pain other than the wound itself, my temperature feels normal, and my head is clear. Is there any redness ringing the wound?"

After checking, Athos told him there was no longer any, but it had been present before.

"Very good!" Treville exclaimed. "I think we may safely say, unofficially, that you are on the road to recovery," glancing up at three very happy pairs of eyes. "You will, however, remain in bed until Dr. Lemay gives you leave to do otherwise. I will have him sent for at once," nodding his head toward d'Artagnan, who took off out the door.

"I can see that familiar look in your eye, son, but you cannot see yourself right now. Your eyes give you away. You look exhausted, and are still experiencing pain. You will remain where you are for the time being, and that is an order."

When he heard those words, Aramis' whole body sagged in defeat, which only caused his brothers to enjoy his discomfiture all the more.

None of them were good patients, but Aramis topped them all in rebelling against restrictions, even though he was a stickler for enforcing them when he was in charge of their care.

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By the next day, Aramis was sitting up for his meals, a smile on his tired face at the slight relaxation of his enforced recuperation. Serge had outdone himself, which he always seemed to do when it was Aramis who was laid up. A heaping serving of tender roast beef slices, with buttered potatoes and tiny peas filled his platter. To one side was a mouth-watering strawberry tart. As always, Porthos teased himself about stealing the tart. Aramis just said he would tell Serge, who would then 'accidentally' burn all of Porthos' meals for a month if he did. The grin on Porthos' face disappeared, replaced by a glum expression that delighted his brother no end.

Aramis continued to improve each day, his strength coming back finally.

Athos' ribs, after a few days, no longer plagued him as much, and he had ceased to have an arm wrapped around them for support. He was out in the yard working with d'Artagnan in sword practice, even though everyone in Paris knew he had never lost a fight with any type of sword. He took his mission deadly seriously, and all of the Musketeers, who had been at the opposite end of his rapier in practice, were convinced that his opponent was a dead man already.

Aramis, towards the end of that week, was finally allowed to get in some target practice. As good as Athos was with the sword, Aramis' was just as deadly accurate with firearms, but he always kept up his practice anyway. He wanted to be able to back up Athos in case Philippe tried any underhanded schemes.

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The day before the scheduled duel, they were having breakfast when Treville headed down the steps from his office, his face thunderous in expression.

Athos stood and caught up with him, asking him what was wrong.

"Richelieu is what is wrong!" Treville growled. "At this late date, he has, unfortunately, found out what is going on and is trying to convince Louis to stop it. Over my dead body!" he ominously said, before mounting the horse a cadet had led up to him,and storming out of the garrison in a thunder of hooves, leaving four Musketeers staring after him.

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 _ **The showdown will be in the last chapter next week.**_


	21. Chapter 21

Treville had never been so angry with his nemesis before. 'How dare he?!' he thought to himself.

Moments later, he was admitted into Louis' presence, and began to boil all over again. Richelieu had already gained the King's ear, leaning in to say something to him, probably hoping to cement his views with Louis before he got there, Treville's thoughts continued. 'We will see about that,' he thought.

"Treville," Louis said, and the Captain began to smile, before forcing it back so that Louis would not see.

Louis had a strained expression on his face, obviously ill-at-ease with wht he no doubt had been hearing. Good, Trevile thought Very good. This might be easier than I thought. 'Louis definitely is not liking what he is hearing. He was so excited to join me in executing justice, and probably feels like it is being taken away from him'. Treville knew how hard it was for Louis to deny Richelieu anything, and Richelieu knew it too.

Coming forward, he said, "Are we all ready to go witness the event?"

Louis, plainly relieved at Treville's presence and feeling more confident now, started to reply when Richelieu intervened.

"Your Majesty, I do not think ...," but that was as far as he got.

When Louis was in a situation that threatened something he was very much looking forward to and then relief appeared, he could, and sometimes did, become very autocratic and assert himself.

He turned back to Richelieu, not quite letting the smile reach his eyes, and said, "I am sorry, Cardinal, but Treville and I are on our way to witness justice done. You may have our ear again when we return."

Richelieu, for once in his life, was speechless, all his carefully thought out arguments blown away by his sovereign's abrupt dismissal.

As he slowly left the room, he thought to himself, 'that is one for you, Treville.' Pausing, he then continued, 'But there will be others.'

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The Musketeers got to the site they had chosen well before the agreed-upon had chosen a place outside of Paris, a large empty meadow right at the edge of a forest. Louis and d'Artagnan had walked into the forest a short ways, Louis having seen a young buck and wanting a closer look. He was seldom free of the coterie of attendants and noblemen, the latter always hoping for favors from him, that he was relishing the short spell of freedom to let himself enjoy his ever-present curiosity.

Aramis, who had insisted on coming and who had been standing with them, still got a little tired easily. He graciously their invitation to accompany them into the woods, and leaned back against a tree trunk with his arms crossed, enjoying the mild weather and serene beauty surrounding them, and watching Athos and Porthos checking out the grounds where the duel would take place. They wanted to examine the ground to make sure there were no clods of dirt or small stones lying about, as they wouldn't put it past Philippe to play dirty to get an unfair advantage by flinging something at his opponent.

Philippe was now late by at least fifteen minutes. He was still showing his anger and resentment with Treville, as he felt the Captain was far beneath himself in rank, and that he shouldn't have had to follow his instructions.

His verbal protests had petered out when Treville had handed him a folded paper with the royal seal. Opening it, his heart had nearly stopped when he had seen Louis' sprawling signature at the bottom, having immediately looked to see who had sent it.

The note was short and to the point.

'Consider yourself lucky that you are not hanging from a gibbet for your deeds.' Glancing up, he saw the Musketeer captain watching him with great interest as he read the missive. His eyes looking downward again, he continued reading. 'When you attack my personal guards or my property, as you have done, you attack myself. You are to meet Athos in a duel at noon tomorrow. If you win, you will be banished from France for the rest of your life. If you lose-a likely prospect-you die. This is a duel to the death. Louis.'

He had blanched as he had read his fate, both as winner or loser. He was both seething and feeling the unfamiliar sensation of fear inside. 'Life was over for him, he thought, but I will not go out without a fight. And at least, one of the Musketeers has felt my wrath, remembering his satisfaction at hearing several of the Court gossips relaying the information that one of Louis' elite Musketeers was on his deathbed.' It had given him immense satisfaction when he had heard.

What he hadn't known was that Treville, knowing who some of the most well-known gossips were, had planted the information into their ears in the first place, ensuring that Philippe would hear it. He knew how whispers flew through the Court.

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The Musketeers looked up as Philippe finally made his way across the meadow half an hour late, strolling towards then as if he had all the time in the world.

He was dressed like a peacock, bright crimson doublet, the ruffles at his neck and wrists outrageously long and embroidered with peacocks, his boots shining so much he could probably seen his own reflection in them, his hat sporting a very wide brim with a ribbon of matching crimson around it, and with peacock feathers jutting out at an angle on the side. the man still clung to his arrogance, it was plain to see. Either that, or he was masking his fear at the coming encounter.

He had almost reached the middle of the meadow when something caused him to look towards the edge of the forest.

"You!" he exclaimed, his voice at once both shocked and angry, and directed at his focus-Aramis, rapidly heading in his direction.

Before Athos or Porthos had time to close the distance between them, Philippe had swiftly reached Aramis, grabbing the front of the startled Musketeer's doublet and yanking him towards himself. "You are supposed to be on your deathbed. How dare you..."

That is as far as he got, as an imperious and furious voice stopped him.

"How. Dare. You." Louis and d'Artagnan had emerged from the forest just as Philippe had grabbed Aramis.

"How dare you assault my Musketeer again!"

Philippe was frozen. He had been caught by the King himself! His hands dropped woodenly to his sides, as he bowed low to the ground.

Louis was not mollified, however. "You animal! You are not fit to be a member of the ancient, esteemed noble family whose name you bear. You are again very lucky that I allow you to carry on with the arranged duel."

Seeing that Philippe was about to speak, Louis forestalled him with an imperiously-raised him, saying, "Enough! Let this duel commence!"

In silence, Athos and Philippe took their places. Philippe, looking into the sharp green eyes and cold expression of his opponent, felt like someone had just walked over his grave, struggling to swallow the overwhelming feeling of fear flooding him now. This was the finest swordsman in all of France facing him, the man whose guard he had been unable to even break through even once when he had tried to prove his skills to be accepted into the ranks of the Musketeers, despite having had the finest tutor in the skill that his father's money could buy. He had dreaded being banished if he himself won, but looking again at the man in front of him now, he knew he was looking at the face of his own death.

Once their duel began, Philippe could tell Athos wasn't even using all of the skill he possessed. It was like his opponent was toying with him, as a cat might play with a mouse. He shivered and tried to banish the thought so that he could concentrate.

A few minutes into the duel, Athos began delivering small flicks of his sword, here a slight nick on the shoulder, there a cut on the thigh. Soon, he had caused a dozen of them, letting Philippe know that, in reality, he was at his mercy.

Athos was taking his time, knowing full well that Philippe was no match for him. He next began moving the cocky nobleman around in various directions, letting him stew wondering why he was doing it. The look on the man's face told Athos it was working like a charm. He was very confused now. So Athos went back to nipping at Philippe's body in different places!, barely enough in all to even show any blood, though.

Philippe by now was most unpleasantly aware of what Athos was doing, finally knowing wihtout a doubt that he had no chance whatever of winning. So far, he had been unable to figure out a way to stop him.

Then, his devious mind thought of something. He had coins in his pocket!

As covertly as he could when his back was to the onlookers, he slowly reached down into his pocket as he got ready to fling the coins in his opponent's face. But he had reckoned without the one person from whose angle he could clearly see what he was doing. As soon as his hand had begun to withdraw from his pocket, Louis shouted, "Beware, Athos! He has something in..."

Athos' sword went right for Philippe's arm, and this time the touch was a lot deeper, blood appearing on his sleeve immediately. Philippe screamed, and dropped his rapier.

Athos lowered his sword a few inches, saying, "Pick it up!" Now!"

Philippe, his hand now holding his upper arm, reluctantly bent to pick up his sword. He was barely standing upright again before Athos attacked once more.

Gone was the detached expression of a few moments ago. In general, his face didn't betray his inner disposition fully, but looking into his angry face now, Philippe knew he was meeting his end.

Philippe was driven rapidly clear across the field, unable to use his weapon for anything but a desperate attempt to protect himself. But he knew in his heart that the only reaason he was able to do even that was because his opponent was permitting it for the time being.

That all changed when Athos suddenly stepped close and grabbed the front of Philippe's expensive crimson doublet, yanking him up close as the nobleman had done to Aramis a few minutes before, and holding him there.

"You misbegotten cur! You have finished the miserable life you have led," tightening his hold as Philippe attempted to squirm out if it.

"You have led a life where whatever you have wanted has become yours. But you made a fatal mistake when your wish became the death of my brothers. For that, it is now forfeit."

At these words, Philippe once more wildly attempted to pull free, and Athos unexpectedly opened his fist and let him go.

Philippe turned and ran a few steps, then knowing that he wouldn't be able to escape, turned back and charged, sword pointed at Athos' chest.

Athos, having expected something of this sort, easiliy evaded the blade, then swiftly drove the point of his sword deep into Philippe's heart.

The young nobleman sank to his knees clutching his chest and staring up wordlessly into the face of his executioner. Then, his eyes rolled skywards and he toppled to the groun, dead before his body even reached it.

His brothers and Louis joined Athos, looking down silently at the foe who now lay motionless in the grass.

Louis was the first to speak. "Excellent! Well done, Athos! We are very pleased that justice has been served. We will see that his father is informed straight away. Gentlemen!" and turning, he headed back towards the palace, d'Artagnan accompanying him.

Porthos clasped Athos on the shoulder, and then Aramis pulled his brother to him in a very emotional hug. Then, they began the long walk back to the garrison.

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Next morning, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan waited for Aramis to join them for their morning meal at their table, but he didn't show. Figuring he was getting a little more sleep, which they didn't begrudge him after all that he had gone through , they went ahead and ate, putting in a word to Serge to save some of the porridge with apples for their brother for later. He would do it too for his acknowledge favorite, they knew.

Porthos thought he would just poke his head in Aramis' door a moment later, a habit he wasn't ready to give up quite yet until his brother looked a little more energetic and back to his normal self.

But when he opened the door and looked around, he yelled, "Athos! D'Artagnan!"

They both came running, wondering what was up.

When they reached him, Porthos said, "He isn't in there. He is still tiring fairly easily. Where did he go?"

"We know Aramis." Athos said drily. "We should have expected this. He may not be cooped up in bed any more, but he may have felt a little restrained when he was only allowed to 'roam' the garrison-aside from out escapade yesterday morning. He may have just gone to check on his friend."

Moments later, they were headed out of the garrison gates. It didn't take them long to reach their destination.

The partially-burned down house and chapel appeared ahead now, and they could see some of the neighborhood men working away reparing some of the damage. Greeting them, they kept moving, almost sure they knew where he might be.

Quietly opening the door, they beheld their brother and Fr. Luc side by side kneeling in the chapel, their heads bowed in silent prayer.

All three of his brothers stood quietly at the door, smiles having replaced the concerned expressions they had worn just a few moments before.

When Aramis and Fr. Luc finally rose from their prayers and turned, Aramis grinned and said, "Didn't I tell you they know me well?" clasping the priest's shoulder briefly before striding forward as he spoke.

Reaching his brothers, without a word he hugged each one of them before saying, "Thank you for my life, mes amis. I've probably said something like this before. I don't know what I ever did to deserve it, but I know I am loved, and the love I have for each of you rests in my heart always. Let's go home, brothers."


End file.
